


Family Vacation

by SailorChibi



Series: Babysitting Tony [5]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Accidents, Adult baby, Aftermath of Torture, Age Play, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Angst with feels, Baby!Tony, Babysitting, Bathing, Big Brother Clint, Bucky Barnes Needs a Hug, Clint Barton Needs a Hug, Crying, Cuddling, Daddy!Steve, Diapers, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Headspaces, Hurt/Comfort, Infantilism, Insecurity, Insecurity Issues, Little!Tony, M/M, Magic, Magic and Science, Nightmares, No Sex, PTSD, Pacifiers, Platonic Cuddling, Protective Bucky Barnes, Protective Phil Coulson, Protective Steve Rogers, Self-Esteem Issues, Sleeping Together, Swimming, Teddy Bears, Thumb-sucking, Tony Stark Needs a Hug, Uncle Phil, Vacation, Vulnerability issues, Wetting, aftermath of kidnapping, all the feels, author is a cruel person, big brother Bucky, blankies, bottles, but only tony, clint is around four years old, consensual age play, daddy!Phil, little!Clint, mentions of torture, non sexual age play, non sexual infantilism, peeing your pants, pull-ups, sippy cups, stuffed animals, they all are really, tony is having a hard time, tropical island, uncle steve, uncontrollable headspaces, washing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-04
Updated: 2016-09-23
Packaged: 2018-07-12 07:27:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 25,288
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7091542
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SailorChibi/pseuds/SailorChibi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In the aftermath of being kidnapped by Hydra, Tony and Clint are struggling to deal with the ramifications of the drug they were dosed with: they can't stay big, but nor can they stay little: it's a slippery, uncontrollable slope. While they wait for Bruce to create a cure or for Thor to find one on Asgard, Phil and Steve decide to get their partners out of the city and away from the media. Bucky tags along.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> For the lovely person who commissioned me to write the next verse in this series. Hold on to your hearts, as I intend to break them.

"So that's it, then. The last signature I need from you before you leave."

"You make it sound like I'm going to be completely out of reach. JARVIS will know how to find me if it's urgent."

"Right," Pepper said, very slowly and deliberately, and it took every ounce of will power that Tony possessed to not squirm. "I don't suppose you want to make a last minute confession as to the real reason why you, Clint, Phil and Steve are going on this vacation. Or why you're taking along Bucky Barnes. And don't give me that line about how it's for rehabilitation purposes. If it were, you would be taking Natasha too."

"We just need some time, Pep," Tony said, staring at the paper as though it was taking all of his concentration to scrawl his signature on the dotted line. He knew it was a weak excuse. But there was absolutely no way he was telling her the real reason. If he had his way, no one would ever know. Unfortunately, that was a foregone conclusion when it came to the rest of the team - and Thor's mother.

"Time. I see." Pepper's tone made it clear that she didn't see at all, and also that she was pissed. Very pissed. She snatched the paper out from under Tony's pen and jammed it into the stack of folders on her desk. "That will be all?"

"Yeah. Thanks." It was tempting to call her back and try to soothe things over, but Tony tamped down on the urge as he watched Pepper click her way out of the workshop. Logically, he knew that her nose was a little out of joint because she perceived this as a secret that he was keeping solely from her. And since it was sort of true (technically they were trying to keep it from everyone, but he doubted that would comfort Pepper much), there was nothing he could say to make it better. It was shitty timing, considering that this so-called vacation was taking place a month before the StarkExpo and right after their stock had taken a nose dive, but it literally couldn't be helped.

He closed his eyes and let out a long, slow sigh. "Time's it, J?"

"Shortly after 2pm," JARVIS answered readily. "Captain Rogers has indicated that the others will be ready to leave soon. He is in your bedroom packing."

Tony quirked a smile at that, not surprised. Regardless of whether he was little or big, Steve was always taking care of him. Just as quickly, his smile faded into a frown. That was less of a comfort now than it would've been two weeks ago, before he and Clint had been kidnapped by Hydra. Hydra, who thought they could play god with experimental drugs anytime they wanted. Hydra, who had swiftly become the biggest pain in Tony's ass since Loki first showed his horned head.

Bruce's initial hypothesis had turned out to be correct. The drug had essentially erased the line between their headspaces. Tony and Clint had very little control over whether they were big or little, and it was a frustrating disaster. Not to mention humiliating. Being confined to a bed for the first week made it slightly easier, but once they were both allowed to be up and around, well... it didn't take long before it became clear that some drastic measures were going to have to be taken. 

Thank every god in existence that the first time Tony had slipped around Pepper, she'd just thought he was drunk and JARVIS had skillfully and quickly lured her away while summoning Steve.

Last week, after it became clear this would be an on-going issue, Thor had returned to Asgard to see if there was any magical cure for their new condition. Tony disliked magic, but he was willing to accept anything at this point. Bruce, in the meantime, was working on a scientific cure. Tony helped where he could, but between recuperating from the torture he'd suffered at Hydra's hands, the brand new nightmares, and the feeling that he could slip into his little headspace at literally any minute, it was almost impossible to focus. 

So now he, Clint, Phil and Steve were off for a "vacation" on a tiny tropical island that Tony owned. The idea was to keep them, especially Tony, out of the public's eye until things could be fixed. The scary part was, they had no idea how long it would be until a cure was produced. Or, and Tony was terrified to think of it, whether or not they would be like this forever. But he couldn't _not_ think of it either; it was like a sore tooth, he couldn't help dwelling on what would happen if - 

"Hey. Hey, Tony." A warm, sticky finger prodded him in the thigh.

Tony jumped, eyes flying open. "Clint, how did you get down here?"

"Vents."

"You know you're not supposed to be in the vents when you're little," Tony said half-heartedly, not surprised in the least. He and Clint spent a hell of a lot more time together these days. It had taken Tony _days_ to be comfortable being away from Steve when he was big; when he was little, he couldn't control the feelings of panic at being away from Steve at all. Clint, on the other hand, had been varying between clinging to Phil and either following Tony around or playing with him if Tony was feeling little too. There was no denying that both of them were happiest when they, Phil and Steve included, were all in the same room.

Clint just looked at him, eyes big and sad, and Tony sighed again as he stood up and reached for Clint's hand. They walked out of the workshop together and JARVIS silently brought the elevator to the communal floor. Bruce, Natasha, Phil and Bucky were already there; Steve came out of the kitchen a moment later. Tony's chest twisted in an increasingly familiar way at the sight of his partner. Steve was everything to him, but even more so now, and Tony was terrified of losing him. He bit his lip against an unexpected sting of tears.

"Do you have everything?" Natasha asked. She was looking at Bucky, but it was Steve who answered.

"I think so, but anything we've forgotten JARVIS can take care of. Fury -"

"Will be taken care of," Natasha said, finally turning her gaze to Steve. "He's still not thrilled about letting Bucky out of his sight, but I'm pretty sure all of the lawyers that Tony employed have been doing a thorough job of keeping everyone who wants a piece of the Winter Soldier busy. Besides, now that Thor is gone, you are arguably the only person who could stop him. You'll be required to check in, though. Regularly."

"We know," Phil said, coming closer to Clint and wrapping an arm around his shoulders. Tony took a hasty step to the side and wrapped his arms around himself, as though that would better hold him together. The initial spike of panic and adrenaline wasn't going away; it was hammering against his chest, sending his heart racing.

"And Bruce -"

"If I come up with anything, I'll let you know," Bruce promised before Steve could finish. "As soon as we hear word from Thor, we'll be in touch. If anything changes with Fury, we have your number. Stop worrying, Steve. You're going to an island, but you're not going to be completely cut off. And remember, the whole idea of a vacation isn't just a cover. You're supposed to go and have a little fun, not spend the whole time stressed out and worried." He was smiling.

"Sir, Happy is here with the car," JARVIS announced.

"Thanks JARVIS," Steve said, rolling his eyes at Bruce and the now smirking Natasha. "Buck, help me carry everything down to the car?" He carefully phrased it as a question, setting a very light hand on Bucky's shoulder, and Tony dug his nails into his wrist to counteract the thought of Steve stepping back out of the room. 

At first, Bucky just nodded. And then, because he was a complete shit sometimes and had an uncanny ability to just _know_ even when Tony was trying to hide it, said, "Tony's little."

"I am not!" Tony squeaked, mortified when all eyes swung his way. He tightened his grip on his arm, digging his nails in deeper. He didn't want to be little right now, not in front of everyone. Never in front of everyone. Panic gripped his throat and his breath hitched.

"Okay, hey, you're okay." Steve was suddenly in front of him, hands warm and huge on Tony's shoulders as he pulled Tony into a tight hug. Over Steve's shoulder, Tony gulped for breath and watched as the room swiftly emptied out; Natasha and Bruce went into the kitchen, Bucky headed for the stairs, and Phil and Clint took the elevator down to where Happy was waiting with the car. 

"Breathe with me, sweetheart," Steve murmured in his ear. "Listen to my voice and try to match your breathing to mine. In two three.... out two three. In two three... out two three. That's my good boy."

Tony tried to breathe with him. It was hard when he was shaking so hard his teeth were clacking together, but gradually the icy bite of panic eased to the point where his aching lungs were able to draw in some air. He discovered that, at some point during his panic attack, he'd wrapped his hands in the front of Steve's sweatshirt and was holding on so tightly his fingers were white.

"No, Daddy!" he begged when Steve started to move, and Steve froze instantly.

"I'm not going anywhere without you, baby. It's okay." He rubbed his thumbs under Tony's eyes; Tony hadn't even realized he was crying until he felt Steve whisking the moisture away. "Can you be big until we get on the plane? If not, I can -"

"I can," Tony said, because he was would be damned if he fell apart in front of Happy. He tried to let go of Steve and couldn't, and his breath started to speed back up in distress. "I c-, I _can_ -"

"Whoa, okay. Okay. JARVIS?"

"Yes, Captain Rogers?"

"Could you get Happy away from the car for a minute?"

"Absolutely," JARVIS said. "You and young sir may proceed to the elevator."

Steve scooped him up and strode over to the elevator. Tony curled into him, hiding his face just in case Happy was still around when the doors opened. Instead, all he heard was the sound of Phil's voice asking if he was alright. Steve muttered something back as the car doors opened, and Steve sat down and scooted across the bucket seat. Familiar fingers touched Tony's hand, and he risked a quick peek to see that it was Clint.

Phil and Bucky joined them a few minutes later. Happy must've gotten in the front seat without talking to them, because the car started up and drove out of the underground parking garage attached to the tower. Tony fretted for a little while about not having spoken to his friend, but just didn't have it in him. He dropped his face back into Steve's shoulder.

"It's okay," Steve whispered into his hair. "Once we're on the plane, I'll get you into a fresh diaper and you can have a bottle and a nap. Doesn't that sound good?" He was aiming for lighthearted, but the sadness in his voice cut Tony deep. He choked on a sob, clinging to Steve and holding tight to Clint's hand, and began to cry. He felt even worse when Clint started to cry too.

This so-called vacation was going to be hell.


	2. Chapter 2

The flight to Tony's island took about six hours. Steve only started to relax after the first five and a half. It had been a nightmare trying to get Tony on the plane without Happy seeing him; Happy, good guy that he was, was determined to see his boss off on the first vacation that Tony had taken in years. Only Phil's intervention with a story about how Tony had been holed up in the workshop and was now completely exhausted (which wasn't as much of a lie as Steve would have liked) had been enough to deter Happy, and so Tony had been smuggled onboard with no one the wiser.

This was hard. So much harder than Steve was expecting. He never knew from one moment to another whether he was going to see his baby or his partner. Then there was the added stress of having Bucky around. This solemn, quiet man was nothing like the Bucky that Steve remembered. It was understandable, of course, but that didn't make it hurt any less. It didn't help matters that numerous people wanted Bucky to pay for the Winter Soldier's crimes. Steve wanted to be there for Bucky; he wanted to be there for Tony. Sometimes he just wanted to walk away and have five minutes to himself, without worrying about _anyone_. And then he felt guilty for feeling that way. 

The whole situation was a complete mess.

A foot nudged him in the shin. Steve blinked, looking away from the window, and found Clint sitting across from him. He'd gotten pretty good at recognizing when Tony and Clint had slipped into their little headspaces, and Clint was definitely still little. There was just something innocent about the way he cocked his head, waiting for Steve's attention, not to mention the shy smile that quirked his lips when he received it.

"Are you okay, Uncle Steve? You don't look very happy," he said.

"I'm just tired, Clint," said Steve, absently setting a hand on Tony's head. Tony had slumped over in the chair until his head was resting in Steve's lap, thumb tucked in his mouth. The first thing Steve had done after getting on the plane was to get Tony into a diaper, and he'd probably need to be changed soon too. He tried not to sigh out loud.

Clint's smile faded into a frown. "Daddy says that's what a vacation is for."

"Yeah." Steve forced a smile. A vacation. Right. The only change would be that they wouldn't need to worry about people finding out about Tony or Clint. He still wouldn't be able to have a conversation with or kiss his boyfriend without worrying that Tony might slip into his little headspace in the middle of it. 

"This is your pilot speaking. Please take your seats as we come in for a landing."

"Sit down, Clint," Phil said, coming over to them quickly. He got Clint in a seat and put a seatbelt on the whining toddler while Steve wrapped his arms around Tony, holding him in place.

The plane came down so smoothly that Tony didn't even stir. Steve scooped him and the diaper bag up and carried him from the plane. Clint, Phil and Bucky followed. He didn't know what he was expecting from a private island, but it wasn't this: the villa was _gorgeous_ , all pale and open, with lush greenery surrounding the main floor of the building. It looked like the perfect description of an exotic paradise. There was even a pool, even though the ocean wasn't more than a hundred feet away from the villa's front door.

"Cool," Clint breathed.

"No going in the water unless someone is with you," Phil told him instantly. "Steve, you take these two inside. I'll see the pilot off and then help Bucky with the luggage."

Steve just nodded, too dazzled to respond. There was a staircase on the outside of the villa that rose to the second floor; he and Clint took it by unspoken agreement, ending up on an enormous balcony that had a, frankly, fantastic view of the ocean. The doors were wide open, letting in the sea breeze, revealing a huge room with a canopy bed. It was tastefully decorated in shades of white and gold. Clint, giggling, raced across the room and threw himself on the bed, nearly disappearing under the mountain of pillows. Steve had to grin. He should've expected that any island belonging to Tony Stark would be something to write home about.

He followed Clint over to the bed and sat down. It was so large that Clint rolling around in the middle didn't even disturb Steve sitting on the edge. This really was the lap of luxury, considering that Tony rarely came to this island. According to Pepper, he'd become the owner through a particularly high stakes poker game and only ever visited the one time. Normally it was tended to by a small staff that took a boat over from the main island once a week, but for the purposes of their visit here, the staff had been suspended. It would just be the five of them unless they chose to take the boat out. Just the way they needed it.

It was times like this that he really couldn't ignore the evidence of Tony's money, but it didn't bother Steve the way it once might have. Tony was unfailingly generous and had never hesitated to offer the team whatever they wanted or needed in more ways than one; there was no doubt in Steve's mind that if he so much as hinted to Tony that they could come back here after this whole mess was dealt with, Tony would make it happen. Even if it meant pissing off Pepper, the board at Stark Industries, and Fury. Especially if it meant pissing off Fury.

Steve smiled to himself at the thought, his bad mood finally dissipating as he gently patted Tony's back. The baby was still sleeping, and probably would for a little while yet. He twisted around to look at Clint. "What do you say we leave Tony to have a nap and go explore?"

"Or Tony could play with me," said Clint, rolling off the bed and landing effortlessly on his feet. "Just wake him up."

"What have you been told about waking the baby?" Steve said, raising an eyebrow and pinning Clint with a stern look. To this day, waking Tony up in the middle of his nap was one of Clint's favorite games. He seemed to take it as a personal insult whenever the baby was sleeping and not immediately available to play with him instead. And no matter how many times Phil punished him for it, Clint kept right on doing it.

Even now, Clint just shrugged and smiled impishly. "Sleeping's boring, Uncle Steve."

"You're a big boy, but babies need a lot of sleep." Steve didn't know how many times he'd said those words, and he wasn't sure why he bothered: Clint wasn't going to change his mind now. He stood up and twisted, setting Tony down on the bed amidst the pillows. Tony whimpered at the loss of heat, face twisting into a pout, and Steve stroked his hair until he settled back down. Miraculously, Tony was still dry, which meant that Steve didn't have to risk waking him up just to change him.

"Here," Clint said. "I got his blankie."

"Thank you," Steve said, taking the stuffed kitten and the purple blanket from Clint. Tony grabbed onto the toy immediately, cuddling it close to his chest, and Steve covered him with the blanket. Then he put a hand on Clint's shoulder and steered him around the destroyed diaper bag and out of the room.

The rest of the house proved to be just as ostentatious as the bedroom. It was a lot of space for just five people, and Steve was uneasily aware of just how simple it would be for someone to sneak up on them. The place was basically a sniper's wet dream, considering that all of the windows left them very few places to hide. He had to wonder just how good the security was here without JARVIS.

And then all of those thoughts promptly jumped right out of his head when Clint whooped at the sight of the pool, shot out onto the deck, and made to throw himself over the side.

"Clint!" Steve yelped, a moment too late, and christ he knew that big Clint could swim, but little Clint was a completely different story right now - 

Literally seconds after Clint started to jump, Bucky appeared out of nowhere, dropped the luggage he'd been carrying, and caught him before he made it to the water. Clint squeaked in surprise as his trajectory suddenly reversed, and he found himself thrown over a muscular shoulder without so much as a by your leave. He hung over Bucky's shoulder, expression painted in such a perfect picture of shock that Steve had to bite his lip against laughing as Bucky turned and strolled calmly back into the house.

"Think this is yours, Rogers," he said, dropping Clint on the ground.

"Not really, but close enough. Thanks Buck."

Bucky gave him the side eye but didn't acknowledge the nickname, just said, "I'm going to scout the island."

It hadn't taken Steve long to realize that he really could not dictate Bucky's actions at this point in the game. It would be too easy to drive Bucky away. So he just nodded, crouching down next to a whining Clint, and watched as Bucky walked back out onto the deck. At least on an otherwise deserted island, with the boat close enough that they'd hear the engine, he could be relatively sure that Bucky wasn't going to take off. And if there was anyone - or anything - even remotely dangerous on the island, Bucky was definitely going to find them.

"Ah, jeez. Guy has muscles like iron," Clint grumbled, hands cupping his stomach protectively. He slid one hand down to cup his balls and moaned dramatically. "Oh god, that hurts."

"You'll live," Steve said wryly, realizing that no comfort was necessary. He stood up again, rolling his eyes. "If you ask real nicely, I'm sure Phil would be willing to give you a thorough check-up, though."

Clint grinned and grimaced at the same time. "Not sure I'd be up for any of that. Help me up?" He held his hands out and put on his best puppy dog face, which was nothing, really, compared to the one he could put together when he was in his little headspace. Four-year-old Clint's puppy eyes, especially when used in combination with baby Tony's puppy eyes, were a lethal combination.

"Fine, but you can get the luggage that you made Bucky drop." Steve grabbed his hand, hauling him up easily as Phil finally joined them. 

"Where's Barnes?" he asked.

"Looking over the island. Is that all of it?" Steve said, recognizing his and Tony's suitcase. One of the reasons he'd packed for Tony: this way, they had a suitcase each, whereas if Tony had been the one packing, it would've required multiple trips out to the small airstrip.

"That's it." Phil dusted his hands off and looked around. He looked faintly puzzled, and extremely out of place in the suit he was wearing. They all did, Steve realized. Clint was wearing a sweater and jeans, while Steve was wearing jeans and a buttoned plaid shirt. All of which was far too warm for the current, balmy climate. 

"I'm gonna take these upstairs and wait for Tony to wake up," he announced, picking up the suitcases. 

"We'll be around," Clint said, eyeing the pool again. He was big now, so Steve didn't bother trying to stop him as Clint took off for the pool a second time. As Steve headed for the stairs, he listened to the sound of the huge splash followed by Phil's faint but exasperated sigh, and had to smile.


	3. Chapter 3

Between the cloudless blue sky, the warmth from the sun’s rays, and the cool white sand underneath him, the ocean just kissing the tips of his toes every time a wave rolled in, life was good. Clint sighed, listening to the low murmur of voices nearby, and mentally upped his assessment from good to great. It would be perfect if it weren’t for the obvious elephant in the room – and the fact a few of his half-healed wounds hadn’t agreed with salt water, though the swim had been well worth the sting.

He didn’t mean to fall asleep right there on the beach. Normally he wouldn’t have been able to even if he wanted to; he’d grown accustomed to sleeping in some bizarre places after years on SHIELD missions, but that was different. This was a wide open beach with a nearby forest where plenty of people could be hiding, and Clint was basically a sitting duck with no close weapons.

However, normally the island hadn’t been thoroughly vetted (multiple times) by the Winter Soldier and Phil Coulson, so Clint figured that they were pretty safe: not to mention, any enemy of theirs would have to be pretty damn stupid to attack an island full of avengers and aforementioned Soldier. That was his excuse anyway, and he was sticking with it. The point was, his eyes slipped shut without his notice and he didn’t wake up again until a particularly forceful wave rolled right up over his face.

Clint jerked awake, coughing and sputtering, to the sound of laughter. He mopped at his face and sat up, grimacing as he sunk an inch or two into wet sand. He’d been sleeping for a while; the sun was a lot further west than he remembered, and the lower half of his body was soaked. He looked around for the others. Phil was gone, but Tony and Steve were sitting further up the beach. Both of them were grinning. 

“I’ve been waiting forty-five minutes for that to happen,” Tony said gleefully, eyes dancing with amusement.

“And you couldn’t have woken me up before it did?” Clint said, trying not to sound as cranky as he felt. He could ignore the sting of the water, but somehow sand had migrated down inside his swim trunks. It was itchy and uncomfortable. But on top of that, his skin felt… strange. 

“And miss the look on your face, Katniss? No way.”

He glared at them both half-heartedly and stood up, grimacing. Wet sand was caked to the back of his legs, all the way up his thighs and back, even across his shoulders. Swiping at it didn’t make much of a difference, either. He scowled and felt his lower lip tremble as the urge to sit down and cry swept over him. Shit. He’d always hated being woken up unexpectedly, and it was worse when he was still tired and… double shit. 

That was why his skin felt so weird. He was _sunburned_. And pretty badly too, judging by the fact that his skin was already a nice shade of pink. He knew from experience that the color would only continue to darken over the next couple of hours. He was going to be in so much pain tonight, and all because putting on sun block hadn’t even occurred to him before coming out on the beach, even though he should’ve known better. 

He started to cry.

To their credit, Steve and Tony reacted pretty much instantly. In less than five seconds, Steve was beside him. “What’s the matter? What’s wrong? Did you get stung by a jellyfish?” He sounded a little frantic, and behind him Tony rolled his eyes.

“I think the problem is a little more basic, Steve.” He reached out and gently took Clint’s hand, wiping the wet sand off of his forearm, and whistled a little when he saw the skin underneath. “You have a very impressive sunburn, kiddo.”

“Sunburn?” Steve echoed blankly. 

“Hole in the ozone layer? I know you learned about this in SHIELD’s debriefing,” Tony said. “People are supposed to wear protection when they go outside. You’re so fair, you’re lucky you have the serum on your side. You’d be burnt to a crisp otherwise.”

Steve narrowed his eyes. “I didn’t see you put any sun block on.”

“I don’t burn, I tan. I don’t need it.”

Steve just kept staring at him with a very unimpressed look. Tony winced and turned back to Clint. “There might be aloe gel up in the house. I’m sure this happens all the time. Come on. You can shower off the sand and I’ll see what I can find.”

“Okay,” Clint said, sniffing. He didn’t mean to be a baby about the situation, but the stiffness was already starting to give way to a slight sting that was only going to intensify.

“Did you want me to carry you?” Steve asked.

Clint did want that a lot, even though it would hurt, but being carried was for babies. He shook his head. Steve and Tony exchanged looks and then Steve knelt down with his back to Clint.

“How about a piggyback ride instead?”

That sounded okay. Very carefully, Clint set his hands on Steve’s shoulders. Steve gripped his thighs over the swim trunks and stood; Clint squeaked, even though he’d been expecting it, and held on a little tighter. Tony grinned at them and walked beside Clint the whole way back to the house, making jokes about Steve being a pony. By the time they got there, Clint was giggling, though it switched back over to sobs the moment he saw his daddy.

“Whoa, hey, what’s wrong?” Phil said, rushing over to them. Even Bucky looked a little concerned, though he didn’t make any move to leave the couch he was sitting on.

“We forgot sunscreen,” Tony said with a sheepish smile.

“Daddy, it hurts,” Clint wailed. 

“Oh, baby,” Phil said, looking him up and down. “Let’s get you clean, okay?”

He helped Clint down from Steve’s back and held his hand all the way upstairs. Clint sniffled and whimpered as Phil turned the water on, letting it run a little cooler. He really didn’t want to get in, but the sand didn’t feel pleasant on his skin. So he obeyed, stepping under the spray and flinching a little at the initial impact. Wet sand ran off him, swept quickly down the drain.

“Take off your swim trunks and hand them to me,” said Phil. “I’ll rinse them out in the sink. I can’t believe I forgot to remind you to put on sun block.”

“It’s my fault,” Clint mumbled, stripping his sodden trunks off. The difference in color across his belly would’ve been funny under any other circumstances. He wouldn’t have considered himself pale before, but everything below his belly button looked white compared to his reddened chest and ribs. 

He stood there until Phil reached in to shut the water off and helped him climb out. There was a clean, dry towel spread out on the floor to keep him from slipping, and Clint curled his toes into it while he examined his reflection. He looked like a raccoon thanks to the sunglasses he’d been wearing; there were two big white circles around his eyes. The rest of his face, ears, neck, chest, arms, and legs – anything that hadn’t been covered by his trunks – were all bright red. Even his feet. He wiggled his toes sadly.

“I don’t feel good, Daddy,” he said. 

Phil put a gentle hand to his forehead and frowned. “You’re very warm. Tony brought me some aloe gel. I’ll rub it on you and then you can lay down, okay? Would you like some fruit juice?”

Clint nodded. “Can I have my Black Widow cup?”

“Of course you can. I’ll ask Uncle Steve to bring it up to you.” Phil was unscrewing a jar as he spoke. The green, gloopy mixture inside smelled a little sweet. It made Clint nauseous, and he closed his eyes, swaying, as Phil carefully smeared it across his face. The gel was cool, which was nice. 

“It’s a good thing you were wearing your swim trunks,” Phil said as he carefully rubbed the gel into Clint’s ribs. Though his touch was gentle, it still hurt. Still, Clint smiled a little.

“Uncle Steve said Tony and I aren’t allowed to swim naked,” he replied. “He said that even though no one else is around, it wasn’t right.”

“Uncle Steve can be a stick in the mud, but I think in this case he was right to say that. You’d be a very unhappy little boy if your dick was the same color as the rest of you.”

“It would hurt to pee,” Clint said, watching as Phil knelt down to cover the lower half of his body. After a minute he had to lean against the counter, because looking down made him feel dizzy.

“So no skinny dipping for you, then,” Phil said, smiling. “Okay, little bird, you’re good to go. Let’s go lay down for a while, okay?”

He capped the jar, washed his hands, and led Clint – still stark naked – through the hall. Clint didn’t care. He’d lost any sense of body modesty a long time ago (sharing the kind of close quarters that SHIELD required tended to do that), but especially around Steve and Tony. Both of them had seen him naked on multiple occasions, and right now he really just wanted to lay down and have a cuddle with his stuffed puppy.

The bedroom was empty, but someone had been there: the curtains had been drawn and the promised sippy cup was waiting on the nightstand, along with a bowl of water. Clint climbed onto the bed and laid down on his back. His daddy rung out the cloth and then set it across Clint's forehead. It was cool, and he shivered as a bead of water trickled down his cheek.

"S'cold."

"It's really not. The water is room temperature. It just feels cold because you're so warm." Phil sat down beside him and offered the sippy cup. Clint accepted the spout and sucked, humming happily at the taste of cherries. He didn't like the sunburn, and he was gonna be more careful next time he fell asleep in the sun, but he liked the way his daddy was fussing over him. It made him feel special and loved. 

"Sorry," he said when Phil pulled the cup away. "I should've put on sunscreen."

"It's fine. I didn't think about it either. Tony and I are probably going to be a little sunburned, too."

"Tony tans," Clint corrected.

Phil chuckled. "Tony might think that," he said, running his fingers through Clint's hair. In the dim light, he looked very tired; the stress lines in his face had gotten more prominent over the past couple of years, and this whole situation hadn't helped. 

"Sleep with me?" Clint asked, impulsively opening his arms for a hug.

"I was just starting to make dinner," Phil said, but he took a second glance at Clint's face and softened. "But I suppose Steve will either finish it or set it aside for tomorrow." He removed the cloth, dipped it back in the water, and replaced it on Clint's forehead before he swung his legs up onto the bed. He settled next to Clint, and it took a little shifting to finding a position that worked for them both.

It was comforting to hear the thump of Phil's heartbeat under his ear. Clint closed his eyes. "I'm sorry," he said again.

"I've told you before. This isn't your fault." Phil's voice was quiet but firm, and they both knew they were talking about more than just the sunburn. He touched Clint's hair again, stroking it. "We'll just keep taking it one day at a time, okay? That's all we can do until Thor contacts us."

Clint nodded, nuzzling in a little closer. He didn't like it, mostly because waiting - unless it was for the job - wasn't his strong point, but Phil was right. "Okay."


	4. Chapter 4

Bucky remembered very little about his past. Hydra's influence was still strong, stronger than he wanted it to be, though admittedly ever since he'd seen Captain America for the first time the chair hadn't been working as well. He could remember missions from within the last five years, even though his mind had been wiped at least three times during that timeframe. The blood, the screams, the feel of flesh or weapons under his fingers... it was engrained in both mind and hands. Sometimes he thought it was only a matter of time until he slipped back into being the Winter Soldier, as though this last month had been nothing more than a vacation from what he really was.

But then there were days like today, when he woke up from a dream - a memory, really - of a ferocious little blond boy who wanted ice cream and ended up in a fight. Bucky was there too, young and amused, and the dream ended in a surprisingly pleasant way: the two of them sharing a single ice cream cone because that was all they could afford. Bucky had made sure that the little blond boy got most of the ice cream, because he was stick-thin and was in desperate need of some weight on his bones. That feeling, the urge to protect, followed him into reality when he came awake.

That was, perhaps, one of the strangest things about his memory. He wasn't recalling the important things, like the first time he'd been captured by Hydra, or Steve (that little blond boy, and was that ever hard to reconcile) coming to rescue him, or the subsequent missions they'd be on with the Howling Commandoes. Things that history insisted had happened, and to which there were witnesses who could say "yes, it really happened like that". No, he was remembering the dumb, every day stuff that had no meaning whatsoever. Ice cream, the movies, the occasional girl, the shitty apartment he and Steve had shared that had no heat at all.

He sat up and scanned the room. Everything was just the way he'd left it last night. The bed was still made up, largely untouched, windows and door still locked, his gun (the one that Tony had slipped him, and which Steve didn't know he had) still within easy reach. It was comforting, though sometimes Bucky thought he didn't really know the meaning of that word. 

The sound of voices caught his attention. He rolled effortlessly to his feet and padded over to the window, unlocking the frame and pushing it open. Steve, Coulson, Barton and Stark were out at the pool. Bucky folded his arms, watching. Coulson had apparently unearthed a barbeque from somewhere and was lighting it, even though it was still early. Steve was chasing Stark and Barton around the pool. They were all laughing. It was the kind of family-friendly scene that made both unease and longing uncurl in the pit of Bucky's stomach.

There was no question that the four of them were unorthodox. In his time as the Winter Soldier, Bucky had learned a lot about the modern century. He had to in order to fit in and be able to pass unnoticed, which was a necessity in many of his missions. When you wanted to kill someone in the middle of a wide-open, albeit crowded, space, you couldn't just rely on long-distance rifles. No, sometimes you had to get up close and personal, put a bullet in their brain or stealthily knick them with a poisoned blade before smoothly blending in. People noticed things that stood out, but they paid no attention to the smiling guy in a baseball hat and jeans.

He'd never heard of or seen anything like this. 

Below him, Stark slipped on the edge of the pool. Before he could actually hit the ground, Steve grabbed him and hoisted him up effortlessly. Stark squeaked and then started to giggle, kicking his legs as Steve dramatically threw him over one toned shoulder. 

"Daddy, no!" he yelled.

"Daddy, yes," Steve said, grinning widely, and playfully patted Stark on the bottom. "I caught you and that means I get to do whatever I want with you. Maybe it's time for... the Tickle Monster!"

"No!" Stark screamed as Steve tossed him down on one of the deck chairs and easily pinned him before starting to tickle him, fingers dancing over Stark's ribs and belly. Stark wiggled and squealed in between his uncontrollable laughter, hands slapping ineffectively at Steve's hands. 

Bucky, perhaps better than anyone, knew that this wasn't just a result of the drugs. He had learned a lot about each of the Avengers in the past year at Hydra's order, and this was something he'd been aware of for the past six months. The four of them did an excellent job of hiding it, of course, but human nature was to slip up on occasion and Bucky was a trained expert at being there when those slip ups occurred. The drug had exacerbated the problem at hand, but it wasn't the cause. No, this was something that all four of these men wanted and (generally) enjoyed.

It was a little odd, admittedly. Bucky had a difficult time understanding how anyone could like being so vulnerable. Then again, Hydra had stripped him down so many times that he couldn't imagine willingly being vulnerable around anyone, even Steve. He clung to the flimsy layers he'd managed to rebuild, and at this point he literally could not wrap his head around wanting to be laid bare before anyone ever again.

But Steve liked it. Even when he was stressed (and he was now, even more so than usual, because of Hydra's interference), he liked it. It didn't take someone trained in observation to know that much. Steve had always been a bit of a mother hen, and having the chance to let those inclinations loose on someone that could look as helpless as Stark in his headspace... well. It was the perfect match. Steve could be as doting and sweet as he wanted and Stark soaked it up like a little sponge, all the while giving Steve the chance to settle in his own skin. He could only assume it worked similarly for Barton and Coulson.

So it was weird but it worked, and Bucky was hardly in a position to judge. He'd seen a hell of a lot of shit over the years. Terrible things, some of it by his own hand. This was - it was _innocent_ , in a way he was struggling to grasp, and sweet, though those words hardly seemed appropriate to describe the scene going on below. But it made Steve happy. That was the important thing. Bucky figured he could come to terms with just about anything that put that kind of smile on Steve's face.

Steve finally sat back. Stark was laughing so hard he was crying, still twitching and wiggling even though Steve was no longer tickling him. Barton had been sneaking up behind them the whole time, and now he let out a war cry and tackled Steve. Steve was clearly expecting it; he let Barton's momentum take them both off the chair, but swung himself around mid-fall and wrapped his arms protectively around Barton before they both hit the ground, letting Steve take the brunt of the fall. Barton immediately seized his chance and started tickling Steve in return.

"Tony, help me!" he shouted.

Stark was still gasping for breath, but he obeyed the cry, scurrying off the chair and kneeling beside Barton. It was Steve's turn to laugh and squirm as he was tickled mercilessly, even though Bucky was positive he could have escaped their holds easily. Barton was giggling maniacally right up until Stark got tired and stopped, at which point he squeaked in panic when Steve suddenly rolled over and trapped him.

"No! Daddy, help!" he screamed before dissolving into laughter. Steve didn't stop until Barton was a helpless, giggling heap. Coulson just stood back and laughed.

"There," he said, sitting back and grinning at both of them. "I win."

"You cheated," Barton said, wrapping his arms across his belly.

"You're the one who snuck up on me," Steve pointed out, pinching Barton's foot and earning an alarmed squeak. "If anything, I'd say you're the one who cheated." He shielded his eyes and looked up at Bucky. His broad grin gentled into something warmer, kinder, and he gave a little wave.

Bucky, uncertain, waved back.

"Daddy," Stark whined at just that moment, and Steve turned away to attend to him. Bucky stepped back from the window. He closed it, latched the frame, and cleared away any evidence that he'd been sleeping on the floor. The bed was too soft, and too high off the ground, for him to fall asleep. The ground was both sturdier and safer.

That done, he tended to his body's needs in the bathroom before dressing. Stark had provided him with a complete wardrobe, including pajamas Bucky never worse as well a very expensive, top-of-the-line tuxedo he was equally sure he would never wear. The sneakers, jeans and hoodies had proven to be comfortable, though, particularly when he discovered that all of them came with additional pockets. Natasha just smiled the first time she saw Bucky sliding a hand into his jeans pocket and realizing that it was actually three separate pockets. Apparently her clothing was similarly doctored and was just one of many ways Stark tried to anticipate their needs.

He took the stairs down to the kitchen and found that everyone had gravitated inside. Steve and Stark were in the living room - Stark was laying on a plastic mat, naked from the waist down, and Steve was bent over him; the talcum powder, cream and bag of diapers around them had long since become a familiar sight to Bucky - and Coulson and Barton were in the kitchen. Coulson was rubbing a spice mixture onto a mound of pork. He caught Bucky watching him and smiled.

"We're going to have pulled pork for supper," he said pleasantly. Coulson was wary of him, especially when it came to Barton or Stark. He seemed to know that Bucky was unlikely to hurt either one of them just based on how important they were to Steve, especially Stark, but that didn't stop him from being on guard. Bucky could appreciate that.

He nodded silently, choosing not to respond, and went to the table where Barton was sitting. The kid - because Barton was a kid right now, no question about it - blinked at him and then gave a sleepy grin. He was curled protectively around a sippy cup of juice. The sippy cup had a cartoon picture of the Black Widow on it. Bucky raised a curious eyebrow.

"Nat's my favorite," Barton replied, touching the side of the cup. "When they first started making team stuff, they didn't do any with the Black Widow on it. Tony got really mad when he found out and set his team of lawyer loose." He picked up the cup and sucked at the spout before finishing with a satisfied, "He sued a whole buncha people and got all the rights to the team merchandise for us. Now we have a say in a lot of what gets made. And everything they make has to have something for the whole team."

Sounded reasonable enough to Bucky, though he chose not to say so. He had no problem with speaking, but sometimes it was easier to stay quiet and just watch the world around him. Barton didn't mind his silence, either, since the kid started to chatter away about what other things were available with the Avengers' images on them. Bucky already knew you could get just about anything; there was a Captain America teddy bear sitting on his bed back at the tower. Stark had given it to him, ostensibly as a joke, but it was hard to tell with the man.

"Hey," Steve said, leaning around the corner. He was toting a sleepy baby on one hip. Stark's head was on his shoulder, and he had his thumb in his mouth, eyes fluttering with those long, slow blinks. "I think it's time for a nap."

"I don't need a nap," Barton said, insulted at the idea.

Steve looked unconvinced. "Well, Tony does, and you can be my helper. He falls asleep easier if you're in the room with him, so how about you come upstairs with us and I'll read you both a story?"

Barton frowned, but nodded. "Okay." He stood up, still holding his cup, and took Steve's hand. Bucky was pretty sure that both kids would be out long before Steve finished the first story.

Left alone with Coulson, who was still tending to the pork, he half-expected the silence to grow awkward. It didn't. Coulson had nothing to say to him, it seemed. Fair enough. Bucky stood up and prowled out the door. It was time to do another check on the perimeter. And if he would up on the roof of the house, listening to the sound of Steve's voice reading a children's story, well, that was no one's business but his own.


	5. Chapter 5

It wasn’t very often that Phil got the chance to wake up slowly. Even when he wasn’t working, he was prone to snapping awake more often than not, half-ready for anything. Today, though, he could feel the warmth of Clint’s breath against the back of his neck. There was one arm underneath his head, and the other was draped across his stomach so that Clint could cup his hand protectively over the spot where Loki had stabbed him. It was something Clint did frequently while asleep.

He sighed, letting his eyes drift closed again. They were going on day seven of being on the island and he had to admit that the trip had been an excellent idea. Tempers had been running high in New York, but being away from the constant scrutiny of the public – not to mention SHIELD - was helping. Phil couldn’t remember the last time he’d had a vacation where he hadn’t filled out a single page of paperwork, but so far he hadn’t signed his name even once.

Clint smacked his lips, nuzzling sleepily against Phil’s neck. “I can practically hear you thinking,” he whined. “Knock it off and go back to sleep.”

Phil chuckled, lifting a hand and setting it on top of Clint’s. This was one of his favorite positions, mostly because he could feel every inch of Clint this way and know that his lover was okay. “Sorry. I haven’t been this well rested in years. I don’t think I could fall back asleep if I tried.”

“If you love me, you’ll try.”

That was pretty hard to argue with. Phil closed his eyes, but he knew he wouldn’t fall back asleep. He was, however, willing to be still and let Clint sleep for another hour or so. He was used to spending long hours waiting for things to happen, and he’d spent the majority of those hours in places that were far less comfortable than Clint’s arms. He’d learned to savor the peace while he had it.

Clint dozed and woke frequently for about forty-five minutes - miraculously nightmare-free - before finally letting out a discontented whine. “I’m hungry. And I have to pee.”

“I don’t think I can help you with either of those things if you want me to stay here,” said Phil, smiling.

“It’s time like this I wish you were magic,” Clint grumbled, but Phil could feel him smiling. “I don’t want to get up. If you loved me, you’d serve me breakfast in bed.”

Phil laughed. “Nice try, sweetheart. I don’t like crumbs in the bed and you know it. Besides, you would still have to get up to pee, remember?” He wiggled around, ignoring Clint’s whines of protest, until they were face to face. Clint had an exaggerated pout on his face, lower lip thrust out. Phil kissed him.

“That’s cheating,” Clint mumbled into the kiss, but he was smiling at the same time so he couldn’t have been too upset. They traded lazy kisses for a while, and it was just nice. The casual intimacy, nothing overly sexual about it (because Phil had nightmares about Clint slipping into his headspace while they were in the middle of having sex), but the taste of Clint and the feel of his hands more than made up for it.

“I should get up,” Phil said at last, pressing one last kiss to Clint’s bottom lip. “Before Tony or Steve tries to cook anything.”

“Tony can afford to remodel after a fire,” Clint said, reaching for him with grabby hands.

“The whole point was to stay away from other people, remember?” Phil pointed out, sliding away. “If we have to invite contractors in to remodel, that defeats the whole purpose. Besides, I’m hungry too.”

“Breakfast in bed. It’s a thing I think you should discover. We can change the sheets after.”

Phil snorted and swatted his leg. “Get up.” He went into the bathroom without waiting to see if Clint would obey. It was enormous, easily the size of the apartment he'd owned before Tony had invited (re: eventually moved all of his things without asking) him to come live in the tower permanently. The shower, as it happened, was easily big enough for two people, and apparently Clint finally caught on because he came barreling into the room just as Phil was starting to wash his hair.

"No fair, you started without me," he said, shucking his boxers.

"That's your own fault. I told you to get up," Phil said. He lost Clint's response when he ducked his head under the spray, washing out the coconut-scented shampoo. He felt Clint's hands on his shoulders and smiled, scrubbed his hair one last time and turned to give Clint a kiss. 

"Do you want help scrubbing your back?" he asked. "Or are you good?"

Clint rolled his shoulders, then rotated his arms. "Nah, doesn't hurt anymore. I'm good." The burn had mostly faded from his skin, and what was left was turning into a light tan that emphasized the blue of his eyes.

"Then I'm out." It was a bad idea for them to spend too much time naked together. Just looking at Clint, naked and wet, was enough to make Phil want. He knew better than to chance this kind of temptation. He stepped out of the shower, grabbing a towel.

Clint sighed explosively behind him. "Fucking Hydra, man," he complained. "It was bad enough when they were trying to take over the world and killing people and calling us out at all hours of night for the stupidest shit, but now they've intruded on my sex life and I don't like it." He looked half-ready to throw a tantrum right there in the shower. 

"Oh, well, I'm sorry they finally crossed a line and made this personal," Phil said. It was an admittedly flat attempt at levity; he was mostly serious. This whole situation had completely disrupted Clint's and Tony's lives. Neither one of them could go anywhere alone outside of the tower. Under JARVIS's watchful eye they were alright, but out in public? That was a nightmare waiting to happen. Then there was the fact that Tony's productivity levels had been suffering, and Clint wasn't able to spend the kind of time on the ranges that he was used to, and neither one of them was able to sleep through the night without waking up from nightmares, and Phil didn't blame Clint at all for being so frustrated. 

"You and me both," Clint muttered, grabbing the shampoo. If it was possible for someone to squeeze shampoo into the palm of their hand sulkily, Clint was doing it right now.

Sensing that there was nothing he could say to improve Clint's mood at the moment, Phil finished drying himself off and left the bathroom to get dressed in jeans and a t-shirt. He walked downstairs alone, not surprised when he found Barnes in the living room. The man was watching television with the blank expression he wore around the team 90% of the time; it made it difficult to know whether he was enjoying what he was watching or if he was suffering through it because there was nothing better on. Glancing at the television as the host read off the results of the D.N.A. test - (you are _not_ the father) and the audience exploded, he suspected - hoped - it was the latter.

"Steve and Stark had a fight," Barnes said, not looking at him.

Phil straightened up. "What?"

Barnes's eyes flicked briefly towards him, as though to say, you heard me.

"Stevie's out back," Barnes added quietly. Without another word, he threw the remote on the coffee table, stood up and padded quietly out the patio doors. Phil watched him go, a little baffled. 

He didn't really understand until he stepped into the kitchen and saw that Tony was slamming around the room, muttering furiously under his breath, and then it dawned on him. Barnes had been sitting in exactly the right spot, at just the right angle, to be able to watch both Tony and Steve at the same time. Guarding them both, maybe, or just keeping an eye on Tony until Phil arrived. Phil still wasn't sure what had happened between Barnes and Tony that night in the Hydra base (he wasn't stupid enough to ask Barnes, and Tony refused to tell) but whatever it was, it seemed to have inspired a protectiveness in Barnes towards Tony.

"Tony?" Phil said, making sure that his voice wasn't too gentle, because this was no baby he was dealing with. Just a pissed off man.

"Fuck off," Tony grumbled, slamming an orange down on the cutting board along with a bunch of other fruits. He picked up a particularly sharp blade and sliced it in half; Phil had to quell the urge to rush over and take the knife away.

"Well, I could," he said mildly, "but this is the only kitchen in the house and I'm hungry."

Tony didn't deign to answer that verbally, he just scowled and cut the orange into quarters. Phil decided it was safe enough to approach, surveying the pile of cherries, watermelon, strawberries, bananas and pineapple, plus a can of coconut chunks. He picked up the bananas and started to peel them, figuring that a fruit salad was as good a breakfast as any. They worked in silence for several minutes, Tony eventually moving on from the oranges to the pineapples. The way he tore into the flesh made Phil wince.

"He's an idiot," Tony snarled after several long minutes of silence.

"I don't disagree, but care to explain your reasoning?"

Apparently Tony didn't, because he glowered at Phil and subsided back into silence. The pineapple, on the other hand, faired miserably: Tony went at it with the knife, not so much slicing as hacking away until he had numerous, mix-matched chunks on the cutting board. That was right about the time that Phil reached over and took the knife out of his hand. Unsurprisingly, Tony blew up.

"I am not a child! Just because my headspace creeps up on me sometimes does not mean I need to be treated like one!" He didn't raise his voice, but then he didn't need to. The raw venom in his voice would've sent a weaker man scurrying for cover. Phil just eyed him calmly.

"I didn't say you were. I just wanted some pineapple that doesn't look like it's been sliced with a hacksaw."

Tony stared at him and then looked down at the fruit. He frowned when he saw his handiwork. "Steve's mad at me," he confessed quietly. "He's getting frustrated because I can't keep my head in one place or the other."

"No less frustrated than you, me, or Clint," Phil pointed out.

Tony licked his lips and didn't say anything.

Phil set the knife down and gave Tony his full attention. "Tony?"

"I hate this," Tony said in a low voice. "It used to be special. Now it's an obligation. And I don't think Steve enjoys it anymore."

Therein lie the crux of the problem, of course. Phil was shocked he hadn't seen this coming, and he suddenly wondered if Clint had been harboring the same concern. God, he hoped not. He'd have to say something to Clint just in case. For the time being, he took up the knife and expertly sliced the green tops off of several strawberries. Then he held a strawberry out to Tony.

"Steve loves you regardless of whether you're little or big," he said. "He's not getting tired of you, Tony. And he's not getting fed up, or getting to ready to wash his hands of you and the situation. I know that's what you're thinking, and you're wrong. He's tired and exasperated and frustrated, just like all of us, and you two had a fight, but that's it."

"But how do you _know_?" Tony said, and there was no sign that he was anywhere close to his headspace, but he sounded terribly young all the same.

"Because I love Clint. He's my everything. But I still need a break from him sometimes. I can't be around him all the time. I think you and Steve have just been spending a little too much time together. Why don't you give it a day? Let Barnes and Steve go explore the perimeter of the island. You and Clint can stay here with me. Tomorrow, I'll be the one who goes off for a little while." Phil shrugged, as though it was no big deal. He'd have to find a moment to talk to Steve, too.

Tony eyed him. He didn't look convinced, but he took the strawberry and ate it. Phil considered that a win in and of itself and moved on to slicing the watermelon.


	6. Chapter 6

Within twenty minutes of walking, Tony was soaked in sweat. The trees overhead might have helped to block out some of the sun, but that didn't stop the humidity. He pulled the bottom of his t-shirt up and mopped at his face as he looked around. Lush green trees and bushes and colorful flowers were all that he could see. Over the distant sound of the ocean, waves washing up against the shore, he could hear the song of some birds and a few animals crashing around in the underbrush. It was all very tropical - and completely at odds to what he was used to.

The pang of homesickness was unexpected, though not entirely unsurprising. Tony had alternated between New York and Malibu for most of his life; more recently, the Tower had come to mean home. It was where he was most comfortable, especially when he could hide away in the workshop. This place was about as opposite as you could get from New York. No pavement, no cars, no bustling crowds, no stores: if he closed his eyes he could almost believe he was in his bedroom listening to one of those stupid white noise recordings that Bruce favored so much. 

But then something landed on the back of Tony's hand and bit him, and yeah - that was a lot harder to ignore. He swore and slapped at the bug, realizing that coming to a complete stop had probably been a dumb move on his part. In here, where the trees grew so thick and close together, it was hard for the wind to reach him. And that was what primarily kept the bugs away. Well, that and shelter. But Tony wasn't interested in going back to the villa just yet. Steve wasn't the only one who needed some space.

As he walked, he kept going back to their fight that morning. It was stupid. Steve had gotten up first, leaving Tony in bed. Tony hadn't slept well; most of his dreams had featured himself and Clint being stuck this way permanently, which was becoming a running theme in the playlist of shitty dreams he suffered through every night. He'd been laying in bed when Steve came back into the room. For some reason or another, Steve hadn't been in a great mood either. So all it took was one ill-timed, strained comment from Steve about Tony getting up for the day to launch a fight.

And now here he was, tromping through the local wilderness and dwelling. He and Steve fought a fair amount, it was true. Their relationship had always been somewhat explosive. For a long time, this whole age play thing had actually eased a lot of the tension. Now when he and Steve were too wound up, they had a safe, sane way to release the stress. Tony could shut off for a little while and Steve got to focus, and both of them had the chance to leave behind all the problems of the world. Or at least, that was how it used to work.

Tony wasn't so sure it was working now. Steve was always gentle with him when he was in his little headspace, but a lot of the enjoyment had been gone lately. On both sides, but Steve had been acting almost like taking care of Tony was just something Steve _had_ to do - like a _chore_. Just thinking it made Tony wince, and his stomach hurt from how tightly it was tied up in knots. He didn't want to be a chore to Steve. That was part of the reason that things had never worked out between him and Pepper. He wanted to bring back the Steve who smiled and laughed and cooed at him, not the one who always had that terrible strain in his eyes even when he was smiling.

"Fucking Hydra," Tony muttered, pausing again to wipe his forehead. He was sorry for having fought with Steve. None of this was Steve's fault, and he shouldn't have lashed out the way he had. That was an excellent way to drive Steve off. 

He winced. His breath caught. That was just like a sharp knife to the chest. He didn't want Steve to go. That was the very opposite of what he wanted. Steve was his partner and his daddy, and Tony could imagine a life without him but it was a like that looked more bleak by the day. He had to figure out some way to make this stop, if only so that Steve wouldn't get frustrated to the point of leaving like everyone did. Just once, Tony wanted someone to stay with him.

The sun was making his eyes water. Or something. Tony swore under his breath and jammed his fists into his eyes, taking slow, shuddery breaths in an attempt to forestall the inevitable. Sometimes, if he tried to keep himself calm, he wouldn't slip into his little headspace after all. He stood there for about five minutes until his racing heart had slowed and he felt less like he'd just drunk ten cups of the strong black sludge that SHIELD like to pretend was coffee. Only then did he resume moving, taking long strides towards the sound of the ocean.

He came out on the beach. It was low tide, so Tony walked down towards the water. When it rolled over his toes, it was cold in comparison to the air. He wiggled his toes in the wet sand, smiling at the weird, gooey feeling. He liked sand. It was a shame that he didn't get the chance to play in it as often as he wanted to. Maybe when he got back, he would ask JARVIS to convert one of the rooms in the tower into a giant sandbox. Or maybe he could create a realistic beach around the pool? That would be really cool, and something that Clint would enjoy just as much because the lights of the tower had never given anyone sunburn.

After a couple of minutes, Tony sat down on the sand. The waves washed in around him, dampening his bottom, but he didn't mind. He grabbed a handful of sand and quickly realized that its consistency was much better for building than the dry sand was, which often crumbled as quickly as Tony could build. And he wanted to build a really cool sandcastle. He didn't have any buckets or pails to make the job easier, but that had never stopped him before. He scraped a large pile of sand towards him and got to work.

It took a long time, but eventually Tony had created the best sandcastle over. It came up to his shoulders and had three different towers and windows and a moat and a flag and even a little piece of driftwood for a boat. He grinned proudly and turned towards the beach. "Look, Daddy!"

His smile slowly disappeared when he saw the empty beach, and he remembered the argument from this morning all over again. Daddy wasn't here because Daddy was mad at him. His shoulders slumped, and he looked down at his castle. Suddenly, it didn't seem nearly as fantastic as it had moments ago. It looked pretty dumb. In a sudden rage, Tony lashed out. He pushed the castle over and jumped up, stomping all over it. 

"Stupid castle! Stupid! Stupid!" he yelled. The movement made certain functions of his body kick into high gear and, realizing he had to pee, he stood over the sand and just let go. Warm urine rushed down his legs, trickling down onto the remains of the castle. But the ocean rushed in at the same time, one particularly high and forceful wave obliterating what was left and sweeping it all to sea. Tony watched the sad little piece of driftwood get drawn out with the water and burst into tears.

It wasn't fair. He didn't want to be little. He wanted to be big all the time and only little when it suited everyone, and the fact that he couldn't help it was so frustrating. He sat down on the wet sand, not caring that his pants were really soaked now, and wailed as quietly as he could. 

He wasn't expecting anyone, so when the hand landed on his shoulder Tony jerked away with a terrified whimper. He rolled over and was shocked to see that it was Bucky standing over him. Bucky and Steve had left the villa about twenty minutes before Tony snuck out; Clint and Phil had been otherwise distracted with the television. Tony blinked up at him and then looked around, half-expecting to see his daddy. But of course, there was no sign of Steve and fresh tears welled up in his eyes as a result.

"Daddy," he sobbed. "Want Daddy!"

Bucky crouched down with that usually careless grace, looking him over. "Steve is waiting," he said. He had this way of talking that was short, but not as though he was trying to be rude: more like it was more designed to get as much information out with as little speech as possible.

Tony sniffed. "He hates me," he said pathetically, rubbing at his eyes with sandy fists.

"He's worried," Bucky replied quietly. "You've been gone for over four hours."

Tony hadn't realized he'd been gone that long. He was sleepy and hungry. He held his arms up to Bucky. "Daddy?" he asked, and then, with another sniff as a few more tears trickled down his cheeks, "Uncle Bucky, Daddy?"

Bucky blinked, visibly shocked at the nickname, but he recovered quickly. Without a word, he slid his hands under Tony's armpits and lifted him up. Tony automatically wound his legs around Bucky's waist. It was a little awkward, because Bucky clearly wasn't used to holding someone this way and he was standing very stiffly, but Tony cuddled in closer regardless. He wound his arms around Bucky's neck and cried into Bucky's shoulder as they started to move.

They didn't even make it all the way back to the house. Steve met them three-quarters of the way there. "Tony!"

"Daddy?" Tony's head snapped up at the sound of his daddy's voice. Steve was running across the sand towards them, Clint and Phil right behind them. But when Steve reached them and held his arms out, Tony whimpered and clung tighter to Bucky.

"Tony?" Steve sounded kind of crushed. "Sweetheart, what's wrong?"

"You hate me," Tony sobbed. "You're gonna leave 'cause I'm a baby and I can't help it and -" He trailed off with another wail.

Clint sniffed. "Is that true, Uncle Steve?" he asked, looking a little horrified.

"No!" Steve exclaimed. "God, no. Tony, I'm sorry. I was frustrated. We both were. But I never meant for you to think that there was even a _chance_ I would leave you. I know this isn't your fault."

"But you don't like takin' care of me," Tony said. He had to force the words out. He was feeling little and sad. He wanted his pacifier and his toys and a hug.

"Yes, I do. I love it. I've been distracted and irritable lately, I know. I'm sorry. It's a bad situation all around and none of us are responding well, though that's no excuse." Steve edged close enough to swipe a damp curl off his forehead. His hand lingered. "Tony, honey, I'm sorry. We can talk more when you're big, but please believe me. I like taking care of you whether you're big or small. I will _never_ leave you."

Tony looked at him, seeing the sincerity in Steve's eyes. That was good enough for him right now. He let go of Bucky and fairly launched himself into Steve's arms, crying all over again. Steve wrapped him in a big hug, whispering apologies and rocking him back and forth while Tony clung to him. Bucky tried to step around them, but Tony flung a hand out and grabbed onto his shirt. Bucky stopped short, startled. He could've broken the hold easily and they all knew it - but he didn't. He stayed quiet and close and allowed Tony to hold onto him while he cried in Steve's arms.


	7. Chapter 7

To say that Steve felt terrible was an understatement. It took a good hour to calm Tony down; the baby kept mumbling something about the ocean and bursting into tears all over again. Steve wasn’t sure why he was so upset – even as a baby, Tony might not love the water but he could and did swim well – but the sight of Tony crying never failed to make him feel like he was the worst person on the whole planet. 

Eventually, after a bottle and a quick change, Tony calmed down enough to take a nap on the couch, but only after Clint agreed to lay down with him. Clint claimed it was purely because Tony wanted him there, but within ten minutes they were both out like a light. Phil tugged a blanket up over the two of them, tucking it in around Clint’s arms, which were protectively wrapped around Tony’s shoulders. Then he straightened up and turned to Steve.

“I know,” Steve said immediately, before Phil could say a single word. “I had no idea he was thinking that way.” He frowned as he said it, because he _should_ have known. But if there was one thing that had proven to be a barrier when it came to his and Tony’s relationship, it was communication. Tony was too good at saying a lot but neglecting to include anything of actual worth, and Steve had never been great at actually saying what he meant. 

Phil sighed and rubbed a hand over his face. It was a far cry from the normally calm and composed Agent Coulson. “To be fair, I only found out this morning,” he said wearily. “I should’ve thought of this before.”

“We both should’ve.” Steve scruffed his hands through his hair in frustration. Things had been pretty fucked up for the past three weeks. And yes, he’d been frustrated. They all were. But never, not even once, had he considered leaving Tony. 

It wasn’t because a misplaced sense of guilt was keeping him here, either, though that was undoubtedly the conclusion Tony would leap to. It was because he loved Tony way too much for that. Would continuing like this for the rest of their lives be frustrating? Yes. Would it be difficult to get used to? Yes. Was it what Steve wanted? Not really. But it would _never_ be enough to make Steve walk away. Not with everything that Tony brought to his life. He would rather have Tony like this than not at all any day.

He probably should’ve sat Tony down and said that, though. He had to admit, he could kind of see how Tony had arrived at that conclusion. This was a really stressful situation, but the fact that no one had dared to come out and ask what would happen if a cure couldn’t be found wasn’t helping. They were all dancing around the subject. It was, he figured, time to lay it on the line.

He sank down into one of the chairs, ready to wait until Tony and Clint woke up, and found himself looking at Bucky, who was hovering around the kitchen entrance as though unsure of what to do next. Steve was having a hard time figuring him out. Sometimes it seemed like Bucky was exactly the same as he used to be, witty quips and all, and at other times he was a complete stranger. It was painful, because Steve wanted him to be the same, but then Steve wasn’t exactly the guy he used to be either.

“Thanks, Buck,” he said quietly. For someone who was supposed to be an excellent strategist, Steve had panicked a little at finding Tony gone. He’d started searching, of course, but it was Bucky who had slipped out and actually found Tony. Steve wanted to believe that they would have found Tony before something happened even without Bucky’s help, but who knew? Tony’s headspace was so unpredictable now.

Bucky shrugged, clearly uncomfortable. “He would have come back eventually,” he said, and then, “He’s a good kid. A good person. You could’a done a lot worse. Don’t fuck it up.”

Steve winced. “I know. I’m gonna try not to.” He looked back at Tony and Clint. Phil had gone into the kitchen, probably for a few precious minutes of quiet, or maybe to make contact with Fury and make sure that things were going okay. 

It was a good sign to hear Bucky say that he thought Tony was a good person. Tony’s reputation proceeded him sometimes, and Bucky used to be notoriously protective whenever Steve tried to date someone. Maybe Bucky wasn’t like that anymore - there was no easy way to tell right now. But Steve did know that he couldn’t imagine how he would deal with Bucky not liking Tony on top of everything else they were going through. He wanted both of them in his life.

The kids slept for a good hour. Clint woke up first, heavy-eyed and a little cranky at having fallen asleep. Steve eased him out from under Tony and sent him into the kitchen to have a chat with Phil. He took Clint’s place on the couch, realizing that Bucky must have slipped out of the room to give him and Tony some privacy. That was alright. By now, he was comfortable in the knowledge that Bucky wouldn’t go far.

Gradually, Tony began to stir. He was usually slow to wake in his little headspace, as opposed to his adult headspace where he normally jolted awake with a hundred thoughts already running through his brain. Steve stroked his hair, waiting to see which Tony he would be dealing with, and smiled when the big brown eyes finally blinked open. Tony looked back at him for a moment, eyebrow creased, and then the dots connected and he sighed.

“I don’t suppose I could convince you to forget all that,” he muttered, curling in on himself. He made a face when he realized he was wearing a diaper, but didn’t protest.

“Forget the fact that you thought I was going to abandon you? Not likely,” Steve said. It took effort to keep the anger from his voice. He was pissed – both at himself for not having realized this was even an issue, and at Tony for not having mentioned it – but anger wasn’t going to help right now. It would just make things worse.

“That’s not exactly what I thought,” Tony said.

Steve kept petting his hair. “Spinning it to yourself as me leaving being the best thing for me is the same thing, sweetheart,” he said. 

Tony made a scoffing sound and curled up tighter, though he didn’t pull away from Steve’s hand. “I might be like this forever, Steve. It’s not exactly what you signed up for. No one would blame you if you decided to walk away. And it wouldn’t be that big of a deal. You’re not irreplaceable, you know.” He was aiming for lighthearted, but no amount of levity could cover up the thin strain of fear in his voice.

That was Tony for you, though. Even with the people who loved him, he would never stop trying to protect himself. It had taken Steve a long time to figure out how to see through those lies. He wasn’t vain enough to think that Tony would fall apart if they separated, but it would be a serious blow to both of them. And all this was for nothing anyway, because Steve wasn’t going anywhere.

He reached for Tony’s hand with his free one, intertwining their fingers. “I love you,” he said quietly. He had to say this right. He had to make Tony understand. “That’s what I signed up for. To love you no matter what happens.”

“It’s not a contract –” Tony began.

“Would you let me finish? I know. I _know_ I have the right to leave at any time. We both do. I also know how miserable my life would be without you.” He squeezed Tony’s hand. “And before you get any ideas, it’s not about guilt, or about me feeling a sense of duty to you. You know how much I enjoy caring for you when you’re little. Do I wish it was on our terms? Of course. But that’s not enough to make me break up with you _or_ stop being your daddy.”

Tony was quiet for a moment, absorbing this, turning it over in his head. Then he said, very bluntly, “What if there’s no cure?”

“If that turns out to be the case, then that’s something we’ll deal with together,” Steve replied. “Tony, baby, I swear to you. I have no intention of ever breaking up with you. But, if I ever get to that point – and I seriously doubt it will happen, but I’m saying this so that you understand where I’m coming from – I wouldn’t blindside you with it. We’d talk about it. Attend couple’s therapy, even, if that’s what it took. I would hope you would do the same.”

“I wouldn’t break up with you,” Tony said, as though Steve was crazy for considering the idea, and Steve rolled his eyes. That was quite the double standard, but it wouldn’t serve any purpose to point that out right now. Tony’s self esteem issues were something that they were working on, albeit slowly.

“I said if,” he said patiently. “This is purely hypothetical for both of us. I am nowhere near ready to give up my crazy genius who strips down naked and then falls asleep waiting for me because he hasn’t slept in thirty-six hours.”

“That was _one time_ ,” Tony said, but there was a small smile tugging at his lips. “This is a different situation, Steve. If this is permanent, I can’t ask you to sign on for that.”

“You’re not asking me,” Steve pointed out. “I’m volunteering.”

“Steve.”

“Tony.”

They stared at each other for a solid minute before Tony sighed. “You’re so stubborn,” he complained.

“I’m pretty sure that if JARVIS was here, he would say it takes one to know one.”

“I hate it when you and _my_ A.I. team up against me,” Tony muttered, uncurling a little to push his head against Steve’s hand. Steve resumed petting. 

“Someone’s got to take care of you,” Steve said teasingly. “Do you believe me now? I’m not going to leave you, Tony. I’m sorry if I’ve been frustrated or moody. I didn’t mean to make you think I don’t like taking care of you, because I do. It’s just been a lot, that’s all.”

Tony studied him, eyes narrowed, and then said, “I still think you’re crazy for staying.”

Steve shrugged one shoulder. “That’s not really up to you. Because if I ever found out you broke up with me because you thought it was best for me, I’d be really angry.”

Tony winced, just a little. “I’ll work on it,” he said after a few seconds, which was the best that Steve could ask for.

“Good,” Steve said. He figured that the issue wasn’t really over. He’d have to reassure Tony a few more times, just to make sure that the message was really sinking in. But he was okay with that. Tony was incredibly smart in a lot of ways, but sometimes he could be an idiot.

Steve’s idiot.

He smiled to himself and pressed a kiss to the top of Tony’s head. Tony grumbled a little but didn’t pull away, cuddling further into Steve’s side. Steve was contemplating getting them both up to go find something to eat – it seemed like breakfast had been a long time ago, and his stomach was starting to growl – when Phil and Clint came into the room. One look at Clint’s face and Steve knew something was wrong.

“What is it?” he asked, feeling Tony tense.

“New York is under attack,” Phil said tightly. “Fury’s demanding that you and I return. He says, and I quote, ‘if you don’t, New York may not be here when you come back’.”


	8. Chapter 8

Of course Phil and Steve had to go. That wasn’t even up for debate, and Clint knew it. Personal wants or even needs mattered for very little when there was so much on the line; he and Tony had what amounted to a free pass to skip the battle because they weren’t fit for active duty right now. Not only were they not fully healed, there was too much chance that one or both of them might slip into their little headspaces right in the middle of a fight. 

But that didn’t mean Clint, or Tony for that matter, was happy about being left behind.

He kept his mouth shut as he watched Phil get dressed. It was a familiar process. Phil donned his suit first, then the holsters, then his earpiece. It might not have been an official uniform the way the Hawkeye uniform was, but a uniform it was: Clint found himself looking at Agent Coulson all too quickly. The difference was jarring. Just two hours ago, he’d been cuddling in bed with his partner and now he was watching a SHIELD agent get ready to go off to war without him.

But then Phil looked over at him, and his expression softened just a little. “I know you hate this,” he said, even though Clint hadn’t said a word. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s not your fault,” Clint muttered at the floor. 

Phil sighed and took a step closer, setting his hands on Clint’s shoulders. “It’s Hydra’s fault,” he said firmly. “Clint, listen. I don’t like the idea of leaving you and Tony here with Barnes. If I thought that Steve or I could stay, we would. But the way that Fury made it sound… things are bad. With Thor in Asgard and you and Tony out of commission, Natasha and Bruce need the back-up.”

“I get it,” Clint said, because he did. And he was way more worried about Natasha then he was about himself. The Hulk was pretty much indestructible, but Natasha – for all her badassery – was just a human. “We’ll be fine, Phil. I can take care of myself.”

“No, you can’t,” Phil muttered, but he didn’t push the issue. He gave Clint a quick kiss and grabbed his gun, tucking it into his chest holster as he walked out the door and back into the living room. Steve was already there, dressed in his Captain America uniform. Tony was standing beside him, arms crossed, obviously as displeased as Clint at being left behind.

“I could send a suit with you,” Tony was saying. “Not with me inside it, but JARVIS could pilot it. You said it yourself, you don’t have anyone to give you air support right now.”

“If it gets that bad, I promise to let you know,” Steve said, hooking the shield onto his back. His expression was twisted with conflict. Out of the two of them, Tony was the most helpless when he was little. Steve did everything for him. It wasn’t hard to imagine how badly that could go.

Clint looked away when Steve and Tony hugged and wrapped his arms around his midsection. It all seemed to happen fast then; in the span of ten minutes, he and Tony were watching the quinjet take off with Agent Coulson and Captain America on board. The quinjet rose several hundred feet, steadied itself, and then swung around to head towards New York. In seconds, it was nothing but a black dot amongst the clouds.

“This sucks,” Tony said, hands on his hips. “Fucking HYDRA.”

“Agreed,” Clint said sulkily, shoving his hands into his pockets. “Got any video games around here? I could go for some mindless destruction.”

“I’ll do you one better. Follow me.”

Tony led the way back into the villa, Clint hot on his heels. Instead of entering the living room, Tony took a left and opened a door next to the kitchen that Clint had noticed, but hadn’t paid much attention to. It turned out to lead to a set of stairs that went down into a basement. Of course, basement was a relative term: it was fully renovated, filled with plush couches, numerous television screens and a workshop.

“Does Steve know that’s here?” Clint said, pointing to the workshop.

Guilt flitted briefly across Tony’s face. “No. I may have neglected to mention that part of the villa. It’s non-functional for the most part. I haven’t built anything here in years… if ever. It was built for emergencies.”

“What kind of emergencies were you expecting to have on a vacation?”

Tony just looked at him and raised his eyebrows. Which, point. They were Avengers; they seemed to attract trouble no matter where they went.

“The point is, I can link into JARVIS from here and he can keep us up to date on the battle,” Tony said, striding over to one of the screens. A gentle touch had the screen lighting up. Tony immediately started to type, fingers flying over the screen. It would’ve been advanced for anyone else, but coming from Tony – who regularly dealt with holograms – it was kind of primitive and spoke volumes about just how long ago the workshop had been built.

Clint took a seat on the couch and waited, somewhat impatiently. He jumped when the rest of the screens suddenly crackled to life with a loud hiss of static. Then a different image filled each screen: news coverage of the scene, SHIELD monitors, even a few satellite images, and voices spilled into the room. He focused in on one that was showing Natasha kicking a robot’s butt; she clambered up onto the robot’s back, thighs gripping its head, and slammed her knife into the exposed circuitry.

“We should be there,” Clint muttered, fingers flexing as he yearned for his bow. Tony had built him a dozen arrows meant to give off EMP waves a long time ago. He could’ve taken those robots out with no problem, or at least turned the tide of the battle enough to give Natasha and the Hulk a little bit of a break.

It was difficult to watch. It didn’t get any easier when Steve arrived a few hours later, flinging his shield around with abandon and knocking out a string of robots that were converging on Natasha. Steve caught his shield and jogged over to her. They spoke for a couple of minutes, heads together at an angle that prevented Clint from reading their lips, and then began fighting back-to-back.

That was about the moment when Clint realized that Barnes had joined him and Tony, and only because he turned his head to watch a news channel re-play the moment when the Hulk leapt off a building and landed in the river, dragging about twenty robots behind him. The sight of the silent figure crouched on the other side of the room, close to an oblivious Tony, nearly gave Clint a heart attack.

Barnes turned his head slightly and looked at Clint out of the corner of his eye before returning his attention to the screens. Clint kept staring at him, but Barnes didn’t even acknowledge his presence. Finally, Clint turned back to the screens, but he kept an eye on Barnes. So far Barnes hadn’t said or done anything that crossed a line, but Clint hadn’t forgotten that this was a highly trained assassin who, up until less than a month ago, had been working for HYDRA.

Tony didn’t acknowledge either one of them. He wasn’t watching the battle, either. He was completely absorbed in whatever he was doing. Clint jumped again when Tony suddenly let out a crow of triumph, eyes lighting up with glee before his fingers started moving even faster than before. Even Barnes looked confused – until they noticed something. The behavior of the robots had changed. Some of them were acting jerky and slow, while others had stopped attacking entirely.

“Is that you?” Clint said.

“Me and JARVIS,” Tony confirmed with a smirk. “Take that, you assholes.” He hit a button and looked up at the screens with a manic expression.

Clint watched in stunned silence as all of the robots started sparking. Natasha leapt away from the one she’d been fighting. He was half-afraid they were going to blow up in her face, but instead it was like someone had hit the off switch. To a one, every single robot plummeted out of the sky and hit the ground with a resounding crash. In the sudden silence, the only sound was the Hulk’s disappointed bellow.

“You are a dangerous man, Tony Stark,” Clint said.

Tony grinned and stood up, then winced a little and put a hand to his lower back. Clint glanced at the time instinctively and was shocked to see that it was almost two in the morning. He’d noticed the approach of night, of course, but the battle had gone on for much longer than he’d anticipated, and they’d been down here for hours. No wonder Tony’s back was sore, since he’d been hunched over the screen for that long. 

“I don’t like to let anyone think they can get away with sending robots after the team,” Tony said, grimacing as he stepped away from the screen. “Look, there they go – JARVIS sent them the trace.”

Sure enough, Natasha and Steve were running down a street followed closely by at least a dozen SHIELD agents. The news cameras couldn’t follow them inside the building, but the cameras were primed to catch the young woman being dragged out. Unlike most of the villains they faced, who couldn’t shut up for more than two minutes at a time, she was grimly silent, letting SHIELD handcuff her without complaint.

“You know that would’ve been over so much faster if we’d been there,” Clint muttered, bitter about not having done a single thing. At least Tony had participated, even if it was from a distance. If he’d been there, he could’ve helped Natasha and Steve out, maybe even brought Tony a robot to examine up close. 

“Yeah, well, we weren’t. And the worst part is, I’m pretty sure she had at least one, if not more, partner.” Tony sighed, some of the enjoyment sliding out of his expression as he threw himself down on the couch beside Clint. Both of them were quiet as a newscaster came back on the main screen. The battle might have been over, but that didn’t necessarily mean that Steve and Phil would be back anytime soon, especially if Tony’s hunch proved correct.

They watched the screens for a little while longer. The footage was, admittedly, a little boring now that the excitement was over, and it was mostly people being interviewed – and that was the same as ever; some people were bubbling with praise for the Avengers and the others were full of scorn. Clint winced, feeling Tony grow tense, as the missing members of the team were pointed out again and again.

The worst part was that, while most people seemed to think that Hawkeye and Thor had good reasons for missing the battle, Iron Man’s lack of presence was noted with a lot more accusation and plain vitriol. Not a single person had a positive excuse. The reasons for Iron Man’s absence ranged from Tony being drunk to sleeping with tons of girls to just plain selfishness. It was disgusting, and clearly upset Tony, but Clint wasn’t sure what to do about it. The media loved to hate Tony Stark.

Then one of the news channels caught the Hulk returning to Bruce, which meant that Steve and Natasha were shown briefly as they regrouped. Tony made a quiet sound, stifled too slowly behind his hand. Clint looked down at him, stomach twisting when he saw the shine of tears in Tony’s eyes. He knew exactly how Tony felt when Phil came on screen, just for a second, while wrapping a blanket around Bruce’s bare shoulders.

It was enough. Clint wanted his daddy _here_ , not there, and it wasn’t _fair_.

Quietly, gracefully, Barnes rolled to his feet, as though sensing the change in their mood. He stood in front of the screens, blocking out the sight of them, and Clint looked up at him nervously. Barnes was, arguably, the only adult in the room. The only one capable of taking care of Tony. And yet, if he was dangerous, Clint would do whatever it took to protect Tony until someone else came back. His muscles tensed in preparation.

Tony, however, had no such concern. He said, in a very quivery, little voice, “I want my daddy. I wanna be Iron Man.” His lower lip trembled. “I want _Daddy_.”

Barnes didn’t say anything.

Predictably, that sent Tony over the edge and he began to cry. Clint tried to hug him, but Tony twisted away, holding his arms up to Barnes in the universal ‘pick me up’ gesture. “Uncle Bucky!” he wailed.

Wait. What?

Clint was glad to see the same amazed befuddlement on Barnes’s face that he felt. Barnes moved slowly, as though expecting Tony to change his mind, setting his hands under Tony’s armpits and lifting the baby. Tony wrapped arms and legs around him as soon as he was within reach, clinging to Barnes like a baby octopus as he cried his frustration out. Barnes held him awkwardly and looked, maybe a little helplessly, at Clint, like Clint was supposed to tell him what to do next.


	9. Chapter 9

“You’re not doin’ it right.”

Very slowly, wondering how this had become his life, Bucky looked down into the defiant blue eyes of what was physically a man in his thirties, but what was more than likely a three-year-old mentally. Barton was frowning so hard his cheeks were puffed up, making him look like a threatening chipmunk, and he had his arms folded across his chest. He was watching Bucky with the expression of someone who was deeply unimpressed.

“I’m doing it wrong,” Bucky repeated, wondering how there could possibly be a wrong or right in a situation like this.

“You gotta support him,” Barton said, pointing to Stark, who was still clinging to Bucky with all the force he could muster, arms and legs wrapped around Bucky’s shoulders and waist. Bucky’s hands hung by his sides and weren’t preventing Stark from doing his clinging, but apparently Barton was taking offence at that. 

“Support him,” Bucky echoed.

“Like this.” Barton hopped up and grabbed one of Bucky’s hands – his metal one, specifically. Astonished, Bucky just watched as Barton guided his arm under Stark to support his bottom, ending with his hand on Stark’s thigh. Then Barton took his flesh hand and put it on Stark’s back. Barton stepped back then, looked them over and nodded with a satisfied smile.

Bucky legitimately had no idea how he was supposed to respond to this.

“He’s a baby,” Barton explained, hands on his hips. “So you gotta support him right, or he could fall down. Uncle Steve says that’s important. You wouldn’t want to tell Uncle Steve that Tony got hurt cause’a you, right?”

The little bastard. Bucky’s opinion of him rose a few notches. Because he was right. Seventy years of Hydra’s brainwashing and conditioning had done little to erase the impact of Steve’s wounded face. He’d heard Stark call them puppy dog eyes at one point, which was a pretty fitting description. Actually, Bucky would feel better about kicking the puppy than he would about getting one of those faces from Steve. 

“Fine,” Bucky gritted out after a moment, subtly adjusting Stark so that the position was slightly less awkward. 

Barton nodded with satisfaction. “You gotta put a diaper on him, too. ‘Cause babies wet themselves. I’m a big boy, though. I don’t need that.”

Bucky knew next to nothing about children, but he knew enough after quiet observation over the past weeks to be deeply skeptical of that claim. In his examination of both the tower and the villa, the package of pull-ups stored in the bathroom had not escaped his notice. He doubted they were for Stark, considering that Steve seemed to keep him solidly in diapers, which meant they could only be for one other person.

“You can wear a diaper or a pull-up,” Bucky said, hardly believing those words were coming out of his mouth. This was a surreal experience. Part of him was tempted to dump Stark on the couch and make a run for it, Steve be damned.

And yet. Stark was still crying, but the ferocity of his sobs had slowed somewhat. His grip had loosened a little, though there was still no way Bucky was going to able to put him down without a fight. He was cuddling into Bucky now, damp nose nuzzling at the curve of Bucky’s jaw. He was warm and – trusting? Bucky hesitated to use that word when he barely understood what it meant, and he had no clue why Stark would trust him, but that was the only word that seemed to fit the situation.

It had been years since anyone was willing to touch Bucky for a reason that didn’t eventually involve pain of some kind – whether it was an order to kill, the chair, or a new lesson from his handlers, touch had become something to be feared. The Avengers collectively made it a point to honor his personal space bubble, as Barton had called it once. Only Steve was willing to touch him with any regularity, and even then there was a heavy degree of reluctance. Not fear, but uncertainty that any touch would be welcomed.

Stark, whether adult or in his little headspace, was the only one who regularly disregarded that. Tony Stark, for all that he excluded a ‘don’t touch me’ aura, was handsy with everyone else, resting a hand on someone’s shoulder or brushing knees together or slumping against someone in sleep (that had occurred on at least two separate occasions, with Banner and Steve respectively). Bucky was included in that, presumably because he hadn’t torn Stark’s arm off the first time Stark put a cautious hand on his metal arm.

This was a far cry a cautious, careful touch on the shoulder or arm. Even Steve, who had hugged him a handful of times, had never been this close for this long. 

Tentatively, Bucky decided – in as much as he could decide, when words like ‘decide’ and ‘choice’ were still foreign and there were days when he just wanted someone to tell him what to do – that he liked it. Stark’s weight was solid in his arms, no heavier than some of the equipment that Bucky’d been told to carry and use over the years. He was easier to carry, even, because except for where Stark was holding on, he was limp and willing to let Bucky maneuver him without protest. 

He looked back at Barton, who had ceased sputtering and was standing there with his arms folded. He was far less comfortable with Barton, who was largely an unknown entity. But his head had been down this route before: Stark belonged to Steve which meant Bucky had to deal with him, and Barton was Steve’s friend. Steve would be immensely displeased if he came back and found that Stark and Barton had been left to themselves when they were in their little headspaces, because it wasn’t as though they could just age themselves up willingly.

There was a small, annoying but very strong part of Bucky that rebelled against upsetting Steve. 

“A pull-up,” Bucky said again, and derived a little satisfaction from the way that Barton scowled at him. 

“Fine,” Barton grumbled finally, pouting. “But I don’t need one.”

Bucky contemplated telling him the truth, which was that he very much did not care about Barton’s opinion, but opted not to. He already had one fussy, crying child to deal with. He didn’t want another. The thought of holding Barton the way he was holding Stark was unappealing at best – about as unappealing as the thought of facing down a crying toddler with piss soaked jeans. 

He took a few steps towards the stairs, and as expected Barton trailed behind him. So Bucky climbed the stairs and shut the door behind them. It seemed to him that was something that Steve and Coulson were always doing when Stark and Barton were in their little headspaces; they would shut doors and close off spaces to limit the amount of wandering the boys could do. Of course, Barton and Stark were both more than capable of reaching a doorknob, so it seemed a little redundant… but it would hardly go over well if Stark fell down the stairs.

“Uncle Steve keeps the supplies over here,” Barton said, leading the way into the living room. As though Bucky couldn’t see the brightly patterned diaper bag pushed into the corner of the room (no doubt a half-hearted attempt on Stark’s part to hide it), he pointed. 

“Find a pull-up. Put it on,” Bucky said, not bothering to watch as Barton left the room. He was more preoccupied with the bag. He’d watched Steve do this a handful of times. For men who were largely private and kept this behind closed doors at the Tower (or had until recently), neither he nor Stark minded doing this right out in the open. He dropped to one knee and pried Stark’s arms and legs away, setting him back on the ground.

“No,” Stark said pitifully, brown eyes welling up with fresh tears. His hands flexed in Bucky’s direction in a silent demand to be picked up again. Bucky, leaning over him, had to wonder if there was any fear in him at all. Or embarrassment, for that matter. There was none to be seen, but Stark was good at masks.

Bucky ignored the hands and reached for Stark’s jeans, thumbing them open and dragging the denim and the boxers down. He had seen many nude people over the years – everyone was vulnerable to the shower. Sometimes his targets were more concerned with covering their nudity than protecting themselves, not that they had a chance either way – and so he was largely unconcerned by this step.

He reached for a diaper, unfolded it and, as he’d watched Steve do, lifted Stark’s hips to slip it under him. Then he stopped, because this was usually the point where he ceased to pay attention. Steve would always tickle Stark, or nuzzle him, or do something else to make the moment seem too intimate for Bucky’s tastes before he continued. His hand hovered uncertainly over the diaper.

Something prickled in the back of his head, a faint sensation, and then all of a sudden – he remembered.

At one time, long ago, there was a woman, and there was a baby girl, and there was him. He’d followed the woman into a shabby, ill-kept room and hovered as she set the baby down on a small table. It was his responsibility to make sure the baby didn’t fall while the woman gathered supplies, and he took it seriously, one small hand on the baby’s chest. She had brown hair and blue eyes, and when she looked up at him she gave a gummy smile and giggled.

The woman came back and removed the soiled diaper, and at that point he insisted on being the one to do it. Her smile, though it had teeth, was the same as the baby’s. She handed over the supplies and he took the cloth diaper and slipped it under the baby’s behind. Her skin was soft and smooth and he liked it, even though the baby began to cry.

“Mr. Barnes?” Barton’s voice was tentative, not quite afraid, but close.

Bucky blinked away the memory(?) and realized that Barton had returned. He was kneeling on the ground beside Stark. They were both staring at him with identical frowns. Barton had a hand on Stark’s shoulder and was kind of hunched over him. He might’ve been sucked deep into his little headspace, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t going to protect Stark.

“What?” Bucky said, a little dazed. Where had that come from? Generally, he remembered very little of his time before the war. He didn’t even remember much of the war, to be honest, but the flashes of Steve were stronger than anything else. 

“Are you okay?” Barton asked warily.

“I’m fine.” But his movements were more sure this time, pulling the diaper up between Stark’s thighs. He paused, looking down at the bare skin, and then reached for the bottle of baby powder. After sprinkling a generous amount, he pressed the diaper down on Stark’s belly, pulled the adhesive strips up and smoothed them down. 

It was a heck of a lot easier than the cloth diapers he remembered.

He sat back on his heels and dusted his hands. The baby powder left a fine dusting over his metal hand. It smelled pleasant enough, reminding him of that baby girl. He wiped his hand against his jeans and looked at the boys. Barton’s jeans were noticeably puffier, which meant that he’d put on the pull-up as Bucky had asked. Noticing his attention, Barton cleared his throat pointedly.

“I’m hungry,” he said. “I want mac’n’cheese.”

“Okay,” Bucky said, not willing to argue. He had to feed them either way. He reached down and picked up Stark again, then froze. It felt natural, picking up the baby after a change, but Stark wasn’t really – 

Stark cuddled into him just as eagerly as before. 

He breathed out slowly and unintentionally inhaled a scent that his brain labeled as ‘happy baby’. Barton smiled, though it was still cautious, and dumped the bottle of baby powder back in the bag. Then he jumped up and strutted into the kitchen, leaving Bucky and Stark to follow.


	10. Chapter 10

Cooking wasn’t something that Bucky had much experience with. During his time with Hydra, he ate what he was given without argument. That was actually one of few things that hadn’t changed since he’d escaped. Whenever one of the Avengers cooked or ordered take-out, Steve would set aside a sizeable portion which Bucky would then eat later on. Through pizza, he had discovered that olives had an unpleasant texture he didn’t care for, though he had yet to share that fact with anyone. 

Barton pointed him to two of the pre-packaged boxes of macaroni and cheese. The instructions were simple and oddly soothing to follow; put water in a pot, put the pot on the stove, turn the stove on, wait for the water to boil, put the macaroni in, stir and wait for the noodles to be finished – approximately eleven minutes. In a world which was often chaotic and crammed to the brim with _choices_ , Bucky could appreciate having precise steps laid out for him. 

When the noodles were cooked, Bucky added butter, milk and the packaged cheese as per the directions and stirred until it was all combined. Then he took three bowls from the cupboard, divided up the contents, and set one bowl in front of Barton and the other in front of Stark. He started to take a seat, but Barton cleared his throat. Bucky looked at him and raised an eyebrow.

“Juice?” Barton asked hopefully. 

Right. Bucky had taken note of this part of the process too, though if he were being honest, he hadn’t paid much attention to it. He just knew that both Coulson and Steve rarely got the chance to sit down with their meals right away. He reluctantly left his own bowl on the table and went to the fridge. There were two bottles, one of apple and one of orange. The apple was closer. He grabbed that and looked around for a glass. 

“Tony can't use a glass,” Barton said helpfully. “He needs a bottle, ‘cause he’s so little. I can use a glass, though.”

“A glass,” Bucky repeated, highly skeptical. 

“I’m a big boy! I can do it!”

The oddly shaped cup sitting beside the sink suggested otherwise. It was made of colorful plastic and had a detachable cover with a spout. Since there was an adult-sized baby bottle right beside it, there wasn’t much guess as to who that cup was meant for. Ignoring Barton’s protest, he grabbed the cup and filled it with apple juice, then screwed on the lid and set it in front of Barton. Barton pouted.

“Drink it or don’t,” Bucky said. He wasn’t spending any time cleaning up spilled juice or broken glass, or tending to injuries as a result of that. Barton scowled deeper, but picked up the glass. His unsteady grip made Bucky grateful that he’d gone with the cup.

He poured the rest of the apple juice into a bottle and set it in front of Stark. Unlike Barton, Stark didn’t seem to have an issue with the container Bucky had chosen for him; he picked up the bottle, stuck the nipple in his mouth and began to suck on it immediately. Bucky glanced back and forth between them but, when no more issues arose, sat down to eat his own meal. 

Barton seemed okay, if somewhat clumsy, with using a spoon, carefully scooping up pasta and up-ending the spoon over his wide open mouth. Stark disregarded the spoon entirely and plunged his hand into the pasta, using his fingers to scoop up the noodles. Some of them made it into his mouth; the rest ended up on his face and clothing. Bucky just stared at him, belatedly remembering that Steve usually fed the baby. This was probably why.

It was hard to get angry, though, when Stark looked up at him and smiled, just a little, for the first time since Steve had left. Bucky didn’t smile back. He couldn’t. But he did feel a little bit warmer knowing that he was the reason for that smile. It had been an exceptionally long time since anyone but Steve had been happy to see him. 

“All finished?” he asked, a stupid question since both bowls were empty. Bucky was pretty sure that more of the food had ended up on Stark than in him, but at least he’d drunk the bottle. 

“Yup. Can I have cookies for dessert?” Barton asked.

Bucky shrugged. “I guess.” He took a new bag from the cupboard and set them on the table within reach. 

He found out why that was a bad idea very quickly, when he finished running a damp cloth over Stark’s hands and face and turned around to find that Barton had stolen roughly half the cookies. He blinked innocently at Bucky, cheeks bulging with cookies, crumbs covering his mouth and the table, and made a show of swallowing. It took him several tries before he actually got them all down. Then he had the gall to reach for the bag again.

“Are you kidding me?” Bucky said, grabbing the bag away. “Your daddy would kill both of us!” 

It seemed, in retrospect, like an odd thing to say: Bucky hadn’t signed up for this, and he didn’t think that Coulson would be able to lay a hand on him even if the agent tried – it was too early for Bucky to be able to assess whether Coulson would or not. He was still in that stage with most of the team. Most of them had been downgraded from ‘live threat’ to ‘possible threat’, with the exception of Steve (no threat) and Stark (mild threat).

But it had the right effect on Barton. He visibly crumbled, eyes welling up with tears. “Are you going to tell on me?” he asked, sniffing. “I don’t wanna get in trouble!” He started to cry. Stark took one look at him and burst into tears too.

Two minutes ago, things had been going relatively peacefully. Now there were two crying children. That was the exact opposite of what Bucky had been going for. He stared at them, at a loss as to how he was supposed to react. He’d seen plenty of crying children in his time as the Winter Soldier; this situation couldn’t be solved with a gun, though. His skin prickled with discomfort the longer he stood there and the harder they, especially Stark, cried.

If Steve were here, he’d scoop both of them up and take them into the living room. Barton, who was probably crying less because of the possibility of punishment and more because Coulson wasn’t here, would be pretty easily distracted by a few minutes of comfort and then cartoons. And then, while Barton was watching cartoons, he’d probably walk around the house with Stark in his arms. Bucky had seen him do it before at the tower whenever Stark was little and got fussy and restless, just patiently making endless circles around the main floor, bouncing the baby and rubbing his back until Stark was exhausted enough to fall asleep.

“Stevie, you owe me for this,” Bucky muttered, standing up. “Come on, you two.” He took Stark by the hand and herded them both into the living room and onto the couch. He located the remote and turned the television on, finding a children’s channel that was showing something bright, colorful and flashy.

Within five minutes, Barton’s sniffling was dying down as he became absorbed in the show. Apparently Bucky had good taste in cartoons. He rolled his eyes at himself and stood back, arms crossed. Stark wasn’t settling down. He was still crying, making these awful, breathy little whimpers, looking around the room like he was waiting for someone (Steve) to come over and comfort him. The longer he waited with no Steve, the more he squirmed and cried.

It wasn’t surprising, exactly. It fit with what Bucky had put together about Stark – the adult one, anyway. Stark rarely seemed to be still. He was always moving, always fidgeting or designing or with a phone in his hands, brain galloping about twenty times faster than anyone else. His little headspace seemed to scale that down, but there were still times when he couldn’t seem to settle. In this headspace, he just didn't know what to do about it.

Not that Bucky was affected. He staunchly ignored the little tug in his chest every time Stark whimpered, and only intervened when it looked like Stark was going to get Barton wound up again. He stalked across the room, gracefully sat down on the free space of the couch, and wordlessly held his metal hand out in front of Stark’s face.

Barton stared at him, eyes wide.

Bucky ignored him. From the moment he’d entered the tower, Stark was openly fascinated by Bucky’s arm. He’d offered several times to build a better arm, or even to perform maintenance on Hydra’s shitty, sub-par work (Stark’s words, not Bucky’s) so that it didn’t hurt all the time. Thus far Bucky had declined, not wanting to let anyone change, modify or even touch any part of his body now that it was his decision. Even if there were days when the fact that it _was_ his decision now was still difficult to get used to.

Now, Stark was blinking, startled out of his crying fit. Wondering eyes locked on the metal, he slowly reached out a hand out to touch. Bucky tensed, but Stark’s fingers were gentle as they slid up his forearm. He was still clearly in his little headspace – there was no calculation in his face, no intention in his touch, just bright curiosity – and that was the only reason Bucky didn’t pull away.

Then Stark leaned forward and sucked two of Bucky’s fingers into his mouth.

Barton snorted a laugh, clapping a hand over his mouth. “Sorry,” he said through his hand. “Babies do that. He got my cars all icky one day, drooling all over them, until Uncle Steve made him stop.”

“It’s fine,” Bucky said, resigned. It wasn’t really. He hadn’t washed his hands, so it wasn’t really that sanitary. But it was keeping Stark quiet, and god knew Bucky’d had worse things on his hands over the years than some saliva. At least Stark wasn’t chewing; he was just sucking, tongue moving across Bucky’s index and middle finger, hands now wrapped around Bucky’s wrist. It was a gentle grip though, and one that Bucky would have no problem breaking.

He leaned back against the couch, keeping an eye on Stark as Barton turned back to the television. Judging by how much he had settled – a tear still rolled down his cheek once or twice, but overall he was calmer – Stark found the act of sucking on something soothing, and Bucky suddenly remembered the seemingly endless supply of pacifiers that Steve kept around. He always had one on hand. Apparently there was a reason for it.

After several minutes, the sucking slowed. Bucky turned his head. Stark’s eyes had slipped shut, his grip on Bucky’s wrist going slack, breathing deepening into sleep. A nap? That was something that babies needed, right? And toddlers too. Maybe Steve’s and Coulson’s absence hadn’t been the sole reason for what had happened earlier. It was late, or early, depending on how you looked at it, and the three of them had been up all night. 

Very slowly, he eased his fingers out of Stark’s mouth and stood up. Stark’s forehead creased in displeasure, but he accepted the pacifier that Bucky dug out of the diaper bag easily enough. Bucky slipped into the kitchen to wash his hands, and by the time he returned Barton had passed out too. Seeing no reason to tempt fate by moving them, Bucky left them on the couch and stepped out onto the balcony.

The sun was just coming up over the horizon. It was a pleasing enough sight aesthetically, and when he looked over his shoulder he saw that the light had framed Barton and Stark perfectly. Stark had sort of slumped over against Barton, who was curled up against the arm of the couch. Bucky took out his (mostly untouched) Starkphone, snapped a picture, and sent it to Steve with the caption ‘not dead’.

Then, while he still had a few minutes of peace, he went to do his standard check of the perimeter.


	11. Chapter 11

The phone started ringing about an hour into Bucky’s check. He contemplated, for a few seconds, not answering. But that would only send Steve’s stress level through the roof, and might actually prompt him to come back before he was really supposed to. And the island wouldn’t be nearly as peaceful with a bunch of SHIELD agents swarming around. Bucky sighed, trudged through a particular thick clump of bushes, and pulled his cell phone out of his pocket. It was, he supposed, the kind thing to do.

“I said they’re not dead. What more do you want?” he said into the speaker, changing paths. It itched under his skin to leave the perimeter check unfinished, but Steve was going to want to see at least Stark, probably both. He wasn’t sure the kids had slept long enough, but that wasn’t really his decision.

“I know, I’m sorry. I trust you,” Steve replied, sounding weary. “It’s just – this is the first time Tony has stayed with anyone beside me and Phil when he’s little. I can’t help worrying about him. I was hoping that they wouldn’t slip while we were gone.”

“They lasted long enough for Stark to save your butts.”

Steve sighed. “Yeah, I kinda figured that was him. Can I talk to him?”

“What part of the concept of a nap did you miss?” Bucky asked, walking into the house. He left a trail of muddy footprints on the floor. Adult Stark, if he didn’t transition back before Steve returned, would probably try to kill him for that.

“Can I see them, then?”

“If you want.” The phone beeped immediately, signaling a switch to video. Bucky accepted. He found himself looking at Steve’s tired face, cowl pushed back around his shoulders, still with a few healing bruises around his eyes and jaw. 

“Hey,” Steve said with a thin smile. “I’m beginning to develop a distaste for teenagers who think that they can just go ahead and do whatever they want.”

Bucky smirked. It was on the tip of his tongue to make some sort of comment about how it takes one to know one, but he swallowed it at the last second. Instead, he silently turned the phone around so that Steve could see the boys curled up together on the couch. Barton had shifted in Bucky’s absence, squirming around onto his back, and now Stark was sprawled all over his chest. 

“Oh,” Steve said, like the breath had been punched out of him, and then, “Thanks, Buck. I know that was a lot to ask of you.”

“It’s fine,” Bucky muttered. Surprisingly, it was. If there was one thing that had stuck with him from Hydra, beside the tendency to track potential threats and scan every room he entered and the tendency to lash out and the terrible nightmares, it was the need to be useful. He’d been at something of a loss for the past several weeks, stuck in the tower, without Hydra to hunt.

Barton stirred at the sound of voices, one eye opening slowly. “Uncle Steve,” he said sleepily. “Are you and Daddy coming back soon?”

“I hope so, sweetheart,” Steve said, voice taking on that warm, kind note he used only for them. “We’re working hard to deal with the bad guys and get back to you.”

“Tony misses you,” Barton said, like Stark was the only one who did, and Bucky rolled his eyes. Steve chuckled.

“I know he does. I miss him too. But you’re doing a really good job helping Bucky take care of him.”

Barton nodded importantly. “I _help_ ,” he said firmly, and looked at Bucky. “Tony’s icky.”

Oh. Bucky supposed he should’ve changed the baby before letting them both fall asleep. It hadn’t occurred to him, but now that he was paying attention he could smell urine. “Here. Talk to your uncle.” He put the phone into Barton’s hand and slid his hands under Stark’s arms, lifting him carefully, but Stark still came awake all at once. He whined, face scrunching up in displeasure, as Bucky set him back down on the floor. 

“Hey Tony, don’t cry. Look, it’s Daddy!” Barton said, holding up the phone.

“Hi baby boy,” Steve called, and Stark snapped to attention. He stretched his arms out in the direction of the phone with a truly pitiable whimper. Bucky didn’t have to look to know that Stark was breaking Steve’s heart, especially when Stark started to cry.

Steve immediately started talking to Stark, trying to comfort him from a distance; Bucky could’ve told him it was a lost cause, and that he was probably only making the situation worse, but figured there wasn’t much point. He concentrated on removing the wet diaper and cleaning Stark up (baby wipes were an incredibly useful invention). The skin between Stark’s thighs was reddened with irritation, so he took a moment to rub in some diaper cream before putting another diaper on.

When he looked up again, Barton had twisted the phone so that Steve could see both Bucky and Stark, and Steve had been joined by Coulson. Stark was still crying, these piteous little sobs that were even getting to Bucky, and Steve and Coulson were staring at Bucky like he’d just done something astonishing. Bucky raised an eyebrow at them both, because changing a baby was about as routine as it came. 

“You’re good at that,” Steve said. “I remember watching you do that with Becky.”

Becky. Was that the name of the baby Bucky had remembered? He shrugged. “It’s not hard,” he said coolly. “Lot easier when he wasn’t wailing his head off.”

Steve winced, visibly wilting. Coulson said, “We should be back by tomorrow. SHIELD is working on finding the accomplice. As soon as they’re apprehended, we can move out. Right now, we’re still dealing with robots.”

“I thought Stark took care of ‘em,” Bucky said.

“He did. Each attack runs on a slightly different frequency. We’re having to re-run the calculations every time.” Coulson took a deep breath. He looked as tired as Steve. “It’s helpful knowing that Tony and Clint are being looked after. Thank you.”

“I’m helping!” Barton said before Bucky could reply, and Coulson laughed.

“I know you are, little bird. Tell me how your morning went.”

Barton started babbling away. Bucky got up and went into the kitchen, disposing of the soiled diaper and washing his hands. Another day or two at the most, he figured, and Coulson and Steve would be back. He could hold out that long with the kids. It hadn’t even been that bad so far. Certainly not as bad as he’d expected. Stark required more effort to care for, but babies were like that. They required near constant attention. Toddlers weren’t much better, but at least Barton could use the bathroom.

He returned to the living room in time to hear an alarm going off, and Coulson and Steve said hasty good-byes before the call ended. Barton’s face crumbled, and of course Stark was still crying. Bucky sighed to himself. An hour of sleep definitely hadn’t been enough. It was going to be a long day.

He wasn’t wrong, either. Neither Barton or Stark surfaced from their little headspaces for the rest of the day, though at least they were both quiet, if somewhat fussy from exhaustion. Bucky got them fed for a second time around 2pm and considered it a win, even if Stark only ate half a sandwich and Barton scarfed down the rest of the cookies. Barton crashed not long agter, and Bucky reluctantly carried the kid to bed. He returned to the living room to find Stark sitting up on the couch, phone in his hands.

“I’m guessing from the phone that you’re an adult right now,” Bucky said, leaning against the doorframe.

“For a few minutes,” Stark said, sounding weary. “I can tell it won’t last long.”

Bucky prowled closer. “Is it –”

“It’s like this haze I can’t get away from. I usually enjoy it, but right now it’s really frustrating because I can’t escape it even when I need to.” Stark pinched the bridge of his nose. “It tends to sneak up on me at the worst times. Like yesterday. You didn’t ask to be forced into baby-sitting duty.”

“You’re easier to baby-sit than my sisters ever were.”

Stark paused, then turned to look at him. “I – really? You remember?”

“Bits and pieces. Some things are a little clearer than others. Stevie, usually.” Bucky didn’t sit, but he was close enough to see what Stark was doing. He wasn’t surprised to see SHIELD data running across the phone's screen.

“Steve will be happy to hear that,” Stark said with a ghost of a smile.

Bucky shrugged. “You’re not afraid of me,” he observed.

“No.”

“Why not?”

“You haven’t given me a reason to.”

“I’m the Winter Soldier. I would think that’s reason enough.”

It was Stark’s turn to shrug. “When I’m little, I just want someone who cares,” he said, not without bitterness. Shame. And yes, the embarrassment Bucky had been expecting. “You had every chance to hurt us at the Hydra base, and you didn’t even know who we were. But you knew enough to take me back to Steve.” He looked up at Bucky, eyes hard. “If you were going to hurt us, hurt me, you’d have done it already.”

“Maybe I’m just luring you into a false sense of security,” Bucky said.

“Maybe. Steve doesn’t think so, though, and I don’t either. I think you hate Hydra for what they did to you. I think you’re traumatized. I think you would rather cut off your own arm before you hurt anyone who isn’t associated with them, and I’m a lot of shitty things, but a Hydra supporter isn’t one of them.” He dropped his gaze. “Besides, right now, I guess I don’t have a lot of choices. So if you could _not_ be doing that, that would be great.”

Natasha had told him once that Stark wasn't great with people. Bucky had to wonder about that assessment now, because it sure felt like Stark had seen clear through him. He went quiet, not responding, and after a moment Stark picked up his phone and resumed whatever he was doing. The faint click of his fingers against the screen was the only sound for several minutes.

Bucky could wait. It was one of the few abilities he had confidence in. He stood back, just inside Stark's peripheral vision, and waited for the inevitable.

"There," Stark said at last, and set the phone down in his lap. He covered his eyes with one hand and let out a slow, shuddery exhale; his breath hitched at the end, like a sob, and Bucky stepped forward.

"I think it's time for bed," he said in a low voice.

"I'm not tired," Stark said, which was such an obvious lie that Bucky just snorted.

Again, he moved closer, this time standing over Stark. Stark wouldn't look at him, which was fine. Bucky didn't need him to. He bent and, in one smooth movement, tossed Stark over his shoulder. That earned him a squeak, but Bucky didn't care. He could tell that Stark needed to be changed again, for one thing, and for another Bucky was tired himself. He could go for a while without sleep, but that didn't mean he didn't value rest.

He dropped Stark on the bed he and Steve shared. Right away, he could tell that Stark was lost in his little headspace again just by the pout on Stark's face. But he didn't protest when Bucky changed him, and he seemed happy enough to be re-dressed in one of Steve's huge t-shirts. It dwarfed him, falling off of one shoulder and covering the diaper, but it was warm and cleaner than what he'd been wearing before.

"Your daddy can give you a bath when he gets back," Bucky told him. That was one area he was not touching.

"Daddy?" Stark repeated, brown eyes going glassy with the threat of tears.

There was a pacifier on the nightstand. Bucky grabbed it and pushed it into Stark's mouth, stemming the sobs before they could begin, and then perched on the side of the bed. Could you leave a baby alone to sleep? Could you leave a baby that was physically an adult alone to sleep? Babies usually slept in cribs. He didn't know about Stark, but it was probably better to err on the side of caution.

"Go to sleep," Bucky said, not unkindly, and put his metal hand on Stark's back so that he could feel the way Stark's breathing slowly evened out. In spite of himself, he found it was a comforting rhythm.


	12. Chapter 12

Steve was tired and pissed off. It wasn’t a great combination. He slammed his shield into the face of a robot and rolled his shoulders as it fell, sparking, into pieces at his feet. They were getting close according to what SHIELD had gleaned from the data that Tony sent them; the partner was in this building. All Steve and Natasha had to do was bring her in, and then Steve would be free to go back to Tony. It was an uplifting thought.

Natasha performed a complicated maneuver that left her in a graceful crouch about five feet away. She rose with a jerk of her arm, freeing her Widow’s Bites from the quivering remains of what had once been a robot. “Let’s go,” she said to him, pulling her gun out of its holster. “Bruce and I have dinner plans, and I don’t want to miss them.”

Wondering if there was a story there, Steve fell into step behind her. He was prepared when something shot at them, swinging his shield up so that the bullets bounced off harmlessly. Natasha got off a couple of shots even as Steve yanked her behind the shield. There was a choked gasp, the hollow sound of something large and meaty hitting the ground, and then silence. He and Natasha exchanged a look. 

“I guess we found the partner,” said Steve, cautiously lowering the shield. When he stalked forward, glancing around the corner, he found a woman on the floor, two guns lying inches from her widespread hands. A pool of blood was slowly spreading around her body. He knelt, pressing his fingers to her throat. She was dead.

“I almost hate it when they commit suicide by superhero,” Natasha said, re-holstering her gun. “It destroys my fun.”

Steve stared at her. “You need a new definition of fun.”

She smirked. “Says you. I guess we can’t all get our kicks by playing with little kids.” She sounded lighthearted enough, but there was a hint of something off in her voice. Steve frowned, curious, but Natasha was no longer paying attention to him. She had half-turned away, speaking quietly into her communicator, probably to Coulson.

“You gave us a run for our money, anyway,” Steve muttered at the corpse. SHIELD hadn’t even been able to unearth her name. She was known only as Crow, and the partner that they had in custody wasn’t offering up any more details. It was such a shame. They were both so smart, and instead of making the world a better place they’d opted for this. He glanced around at the carnage, which had probably cost thousands in stolen money, and shook his head. At least his part in the mess was over. It was SHIELD’s problem now.

“Coulson says for us to meet him outside,” Natasha said, already striding down the hall. Steve hopped up and followed her down the twelve flights of stairs and out into the overly bright sunshine. He was surprised to see that, in addition to Bruce, there was another familiar face standing beside Coulson.

“Thor!” Steve exclaimed. “You’re back!”

“Aye, Captain.” Thor was grinning. “I see that you did not leave any foes for me to vanquish. A shame, as things were quiet on Asgard and I could’ve used some fun.”

“Next time we’ll be sure to hang back until you arrive,” Natasha said wryly, crossing her arms. “I hope you came back with good news.”

Thor nodded, swinging his hammer from his shoulder. “I would gladly tell you, but I believe we should wait until prying ears cannot overhear.” He shot a pointed look at some of the news outlets; there were reporters circling the scene like sharks, just waiting for an Avenger or a SHIELD agent to wander too close and say something that they weren’t supposed to say. Steve had gotten caught in the trap a couple of times before he learned to keep his distance and his voice down.

“Let’s go, then. Hill’s here on clean-up duty,” Coulson said. Steve followed his gaze and spotted Maria, barking orders out to junior agents. She raised two fingers in acknowledgement and Steve nodded back to her.

Coulson led them to the nearest SHIELD van, which were all equipped with advanced soundproofing techniques and cell blockers in an immediate radius. He slid the door back and didn’t even have to say a word. The two agents inside vacated immediately, leaving space for Thor, Natasha, Bruce, Steve and Coulson to slide in. It was cramped with both Thor and Steve, but Steve didn’t care. His heart was pounding in his ears. This was the moment they’d been waiting for, and if Thor didn’t have good news Steve wasn’t sure what would happen.

“First of all, I apologize for my absence. I was gone longer than intended, but my mother required help and magic is not my strong point.” There was a tiny little pause, during which Steve tried hard not to think about who did have a magic as a strong point, before Thor continued. “As it turns out, I have both good and bad news. The good news is, my mother was able to find a cure once she had done a little research.”

“Thank god,” Steve said, slumping back against the door. “She’ll be able to erase the effects of the drug?”

Thor nodded with a smile. “Our friends should be back to normal and possess full control over their minds. There will be no more slipping between their headspaces. The concoction will effectively eliminate the last traces of your Midgardian drug.”

“What’s the bad news?” Natasha asked.

“It will require another two weeks of patience. The herbs required can only be harvested at a very specific time. My mother will then have to brew the potion. It will be another three weeks before I can bring you the cure.”

“That’s not bad,” Coulson said, looking as relieved as Steve felt. “We can wait. As long as know there’s a cure coming, I’m sure Clint and Tony will be fine with that. Thank you, Thor."

"I'd like to do some tests on it first, if I could," Bruce said, leaning heavily against Natasha. "Just to make sure that there's nothing in it that could harm Tony or Clint. No offence, Thor, but I've seen you consume things that would easily kill a human."

"None take," Thor assured him. "That would be wise. I would not want to hurt either one of them in our quest to heal them."

"Will you be able to keep them out of sight for that long?" Bruce asked, turning to Steve and Coulson.

"It'll be hard. Pepper definitely won't be happy," Steve said slowly. "Tony and I will have to talk about it. We might have to come back to New York for at least a couple of days so that Tony can try to attend some meetings. I'm not really sure how that'll work. We were using the excuse that he was injured before, but honestly he's had a lot worse. I don't want people getting suspicious."

"I'll think of something and talk to Pepper," Natasha told him. "You guys should get back to the island. No telling what's happening there." Her lips quirked up into a smile. She'd laughed for a good ten minutes when she saw the text that Bucky sent, which was unprecedented for Natasha.

"Thank you," Steve said earnestly, looking at Thor.

"You are most welcome, my friends. Go ahead. I will remain behind with Natasha and Bruce to protect Midgard. Mother told me not to return for another two weeks at the earliest. She claimed my hovering presence was making the -" Thor spoke a word that Steve didn't recognize, but which made the hair stand up on the back of his neck. "- threaten to wilt." He made a face.

"The quinjet's already waiting for us," Coulson said, pulling the door to the van open. Steve jumped out after him. He couldn't wait to see the look on Tony's face when he heard that there was going to be a cure. That had been looming over all of them for the past few weeks and it would be a huge load off of Tony's shoulders to hear that things would soon be back to normal. Maybe then he would be able to let go and just enjoy the next couple weeks no matter what headspace he was in.

He didn't bother texting Bucky, wanting it to be a surprise that they were coming back sooner than anticipated. Coulson was flying the plane, which left Steve to prowl around restlessly on his own for the duration of the flight. He changed out of his uniform, took a quick shower in the (extremely) small facilities, and changed into a pair of jeans and a t-shirt. Then he sat down and tried to sleep, because he'd been awake for the past couple of days. That was easier said than done, though. Every time he closed his eyes, he pictured Tony's excited face and that made it impossible to sleep.

Finally, what felt like days later, Coulson smoothly landed the plane and they both disembarked. The house was quiet, which was mildly alarming. Steve had half-expected to have Bucky trying to shoot them down, or maybe to come back and find that the house had burned down and Tony and Clint had staged a coup in their absence. He entered the house first, on alert even though he trusted Bucky, because in their world you just never knew who or what might be waiting. All he found, though, was a bored-looking Bucky sitting on the couch and staring at the muted television. He was alone.

"Did you know," Bucky said, startling Steve, "that reception sucks out here?"

"I'm not surprised," Steve said, making a signal behind his back that would alert Coulson to the fact that it was okay to come in. "I don't think cable providers reach this far. Did you try the internet -"

"I tried them all. They all suck. Except for the cartoons, Barton seems to appreciate the selection." Bucky turned his head to look at them for the first time. Much to Steve's surprise, he looked a lot more relaxed than he had when Steve and Coulson had left. Some of the tension had left his face, and his shoulders were no longer hunched up around his ears. Steve had felt bad about leaving him to baby-sit, but maybe it had actually been good for him? 

"Is everything okay?" Steve asked a little cautiously.

Before Bucky had the chance to reply, Clint appeared in the doorway rubbing at his eyes. "Bucky, my - Daddy!" His eyes lit up at seeing Coulson. With an excited yell, he hurtled across the room and literally threw himself into Coulson's arms. Coulson just barely managed to catch him, stumbling back a step at the force of Clint's jump.

"Hi little bird," Coulson said, his whole face softening. He hugged Clint tightly, rocking him back and forth. "Guess what? I brought good news with me."

"Good news?" Clint repeated, pulling back just enough to look up at him curiously.

"Yup. It's going to be another three weeks to a month, but Thor found a cure."

Clint stared at him in disbelief, eyes wide. "Really?"

"Really," Coulson said, smoothing his hands over Clint's hair. He cupped Clint's face, pressing a kiss to his forehead, then pulled him into another hug. Clint clung to him and started to cry.

Feeling a bit like he was witnessing something very private, Steve turned to tiptoe out of the room. Bucky was already gone, likely out the open window. Steve went upstairs alone, figuring that both boys had probably been put down for naps. Sure enough, he found Tony in their room. The baby was sleeping on his belly, head turned to the side, thumb tucked securely in his mouth. He had his free arm wrapped around his favorite stuffed animals; his blankie had been draped over him to keep him from getting too cold in the air conditioning. He looked so adorable that Steve had to smile, filled with relief all over again.

Maybe now he and Tony could enjoy this again, knowing that it had an ending, that soon it would be their choice, not something that was forced on them.

He tiptoed across the room and sat down on the edge of the bed. Tony didn't stir when the mattress sank, too deeply asleep. Steve knew he should let him rest, but he was too excited to share the news: he put a hand on Tony's back and started to rub very slowly. It only took a minute or two before Tony's eyelashes fluttered. Very slowly, his eyes blinked open. His eyebrows drew together into a confused, cranky pout, and he was all set to start crying until he actually caught sight of Steve. Immediately, the fussiness vanished and he let out a happy, excited cry.

"Hey baby," Steve said, scooping him up and settling Tony into his lap. Tony wrapped both arms around his neck and held on tightly, shaking. Steve hugged him back, rocking them a little. God, he'd missed Tony.

"Daddy," Tony whispered. "Okay?"

"Yeah, honey, everything's okay. Everything's fine. And I have good news, sweetheart. Thor's gonna bring a cure home in about three weeks. Just three more weeks, that's all we have to wait." Steve heard his own voice wobble as he spoke. The amount of relief he was feeling couldn't be put into words, but he was pretty sure it was oozing out of him right now.

Tony tensed for a few seconds as he absorbed those words, turning them over in his mind and understanding what they really meant. Then he whimpered and folded into Steve, a soft sob breaking out. It gutted Steve, because he knew exactly how terrified Tony had been all this time, but Tony had refused to really show it until this moment, when this whole nightmare was almost behind them. He wanted so badly to be able to give Tony the cure right this second, but all he could do was sit there and comfort his baby as best he could, knowing that soon they'd be able to move on together.

**Author's Note:**

> Find me on [tumblr](http://tsuki-chibi.tumblr.com/).


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